Chicken Noodle Soup For the Trekkie Soul
by Tavia
Summary: This is a Star Trek serial. About time I thought of calling it that. Gone on Indefinite Shore Leave
1. To Fight a Klingon

A/N: This isn't exactly a story; it's just a new idea I had. I take a basic situation (example: fighting a Klingon) and put various characters into it, and tell how they each react differently. If that doesn't make sense, just read it.  (No, that explanation isn't much better, but hopefully it makes some sense.) Part One has a couple characters from my other stories, so you might want to read (and review!) those, though it's not technically necessary. Just know that Carol is Kirk's girlfriend and she's in Starfleet, and Stella is Harry Mudd's extremely ugly and frightening wife (who wears a mask to hide her hideousness).

Part One:

To Fight a Klingon

_A big, burly, and somewhat dimwitted Klingon is attacking:_

The Klingon was poised, ready to lunge forward and begin the fight.  Kirk was equally poised.  They circled warily.  The Klingon was about to attack when Kirk stepped back and straightened.

"Wait a minute.  You can't attack me," Kirk said calmly.

The Klingon blinked, badly thrown off.  This was not something he had anticipated.  "Um…what?"

"I just remembered.  You can't attack me."

The Klingon, thinking he perceived cowardice, recovered his equilibrium.  "That is ridiculous," he snarled.  "I am a Klingon.  You are Kirk.  We are enemies.  We fight.  I kill you, and get drunk on bloodwine in celebration.  Or else"—and here he smirked to show his doubt—"you kill me and I go to Sto-Vo-Kor and get drunk on bloodwine anyway.  It is very simple."

Kirk nodded.  "Sure, I'm fine with that.  But you can't attack yet.  I have to take my shirt off first."

The Klingon had heard enough.  He charged with a roar.  Kirk ducked and twisted, and caught the Klingon in a hold from behind.

"If you don't give me a chance to take my shirt off, could you at least try to rip it?" Kirk asked, hanging onto the Klingon from behind.  "Preferably across the chest, or over one shoulder?"

The Klingon grunted, and threw Kirk off.  Kirk hit the ground and rolled, coming up with a boot straight in the Klingon's face.  That was rapidly followed by a fist at the point of the Klingon's chin.  He hit the ground with a thud and stayed there.  Kirk looked at him for a moment, then shook his head.

"You disappoint me," he informed the unconscious Klingon.  "I expected to beat you, but couldn't you have put up a decent fight?  I might have lost part of my shirt."  Kirk shook his head again and started walking away.  "Just how am I suppose to date the yeomen on this ship if I never lose my shirt?  I don't know what this galaxy is coming to…"

*  *  *

The Klingon was poised, ready to lunge forward and begin the fight.  Spock eyed him carefully, making calculations and plans.  The Klingon was about to attack when Spock took a step forward and straightened.

"You realize it is illogical to attack me.  We are on the _Enterprise_.  Even if you defeat me, you will eventually be caught.  You would do better to surrender.  We would be more lenient," Spock said, taking a single step forward.

The Klingon was thoughtful for a moment, then regained his sense of purpose.  "It is a matter of honor," he growled, and prepared again for the attack.

Spock continued speaking.  "It is further illogical to engage me in hand to hand combat.  Vulcans have strength superior to humans, as well as excellent reflexes and fully developed martial arts skills."  He carefully took another step forward.

The Klingon frowned.  "If you are more powerful than I am, then I'll die.  That doesn't matter.  It is a good day to die.  And if I'm more powerful, you'll die."

"It is also illogical to immediately plan to kill me.  I would make a more valuable hostage.  On the other hand, you would be burdened with dealing with me while evading the security guards."  Spock took two steps forward while talking.

The Klingon frowned, trying to think.  He was starting to get confused.  Maybe this fight wasn't as simple as it had looked.  Or maybe this pointy-eared Starfleeter was _trying_ to confuse him.  Or maybe—

By now Spock and the Klingon were quite close together.  It was a simple matter for Spock to take two quick steps forward, duck past the Klingon, and, before the Klingon could react properly, get one hand on his shoulder.  And that was all it took.  The Klingon sunk to the floor unconscious, nerve-pinched.

"It is especially illogical," Spock said quietly, "to allow yourself to be distracted by your opponent while in a fight."

*  *  *

The Klingon was poised, ready to lunge forward and begin the fight.  Carol eyed him, unimpressed.  In one rapid movement she grabbed her phaser and stunned him.  Then she stepped over to the comm unit on the wall.  "Security?  We've got a stunned Klingon on Deck three.  You might want to pick him up."

*  *  *

The Klingon was poised, ready to lunge forward and begin the fight.  Stella eyed him.

"My, aren't you the brawny fellow!" she cooed.

He blinked, a bit taken aback.  This was unexpected.

"You know, there's no _reason_ we have to fight.  We could be great friends, you and I," Stella continued.

"I will not be 'friends' with someone who hides her identity behind a mask.  Such deception is dishonorable."

"No problem!"Stella pulled her mask off and smiled at the Klingon.

The Klingon was a brave man.  He had faced death countless times without flinching.  He was willing and happy to die for his empire.  He took one look at Stella, screamed, and ran down the corridor.

Stella snapped her fingers in frustration.  "Dang.  That makes _twelve_."

Let me know what you think please!  (I _love_ reviews.  Nice reviews that is.)    Next chapter, they get lost in the woods.  I use a lot more of the characters too.  If all goes well and people in general seem to like this (and FF doesn't die), I'll post in a few days (where have I heard _that_ before…).  Oh, and if you've got any ideas for situations I'd love to hear them, and I'll try to use them!  ^_^


	2. Lost in the Forest

I forgot a disclaimer before.  Whoops!  So here we are: I don't own Star Trek.  Now all you copyright people can just go away.

Meredith: The crewmember who lost his memory thing is kinda complicated.  Funny.  Very funny.  But kinda complicated.  I'm pretty sure I can use the lost cat thing in one chapter though.  Thanks for the idea!  ^_^

To all the other nice people who reviewed: Glad you seem to like this idea.  I feed on compliments.  Heehee.  As promised, here's the next chapter.  As before, suggestions will be appreciated.

Part Two:

Lost in the Forest

_A landing party from the Enterprise has arrived on a planet by shuttlecraft.  Unfortunately, members of the group have gotten separated from the rest of the party, and are lost in the planet's tropical forest:_

Kirk was lost.  He was somewhere in the forest on Mycelia V, he knew that much.  He was also fairly sure he had at least a hazy idea of where the shuttlecraft was, so he wasn't lost completely.  He looked around.

"Let's see…I think the shuttle should be to my right," he said, thinking out loud.  He glanced to his right, and also to his left.  To his left he noticed a faint trail.  "Hmm.  That trail probably leads to a native village."  A thought occurred to him.  The computer database had said a great deal about the natives of this planet; including that the native women were very pretty.  He looked between the two directions for a moment longer, thinking.  Then he turned and headed down the trail towards the native village.

*  *  *

Chekov was lost.  He was somewhere in the forest on Mycelia V, and he was pretty sure the shuttlecraft was to the north.  The trouble, of course, was finding north.  

"Fortunately," he said, thinking out loud, "I just happen to have my pocket compass.  A Russian inwention, of course." He pulled it out, and checked the direction.  "Ah.  North is to my right.  Wery good." He started walking that way.

He glanced around the tropical forest as he walked through it.  He decided it was really a very beautiful place.  Reminded him of the countryside outside Moscow.

*  *  *

Spock was lost.  He was somewhere in the forest on Mycelia V.  Because he had been studying the plant life, he had not paid proper attention to his overall surroundings.  He had left the shuttlecraft 1.146 hours ago.  He estimated he had walked approximately 3.34 kilometers, to the south-south-west.  Therefore the shuttle was roughly three kilometers to the north.  But which way was north?

That should be simple to determine.  He carefully studied the position of the sun, and compared it to moss growth on the trees.  After a few moments he was 97.8% sure he had the right direction and started walking.  He became 99.98% sure he was going the right way when he started noting what appeared to be signs of his own trail.  By carefully following his trail, he would be able to reach the shuttlecraft without mishap.  He proceeded to do so.

*  *  *

Ensign Jones was lost.  He was somewhere in the forest on Mycelia V.  Somewhere was the operative word.  He was a security guard, not a tracker and so was completely lost.  He also wasn't a scientist, and, to tell the truth, he wasn't sure why he'd beamed down to begin with.  He had though, and now he was separated from the group, and lost somewhere in the forest.

For lack of a better idea, he wandered haphazardly.  He tried to see if he recognized anything, and had to conclude that he didn't.  He had a strong suspicion that he was only getting more lost.  Apart from his concern regarding his whereabouts, he was almost enjoying this walk in the forest.  Or he would be if he could just shake his feeling of impending doom.  The forest was quite beautiful, with many interesting plants.  

He noticed one particularly large plant.  It consisted of a single stalk with what looked like a large seedpod at the top.  The stalk reached far above his head, and the seedpod was larger than he was.  He walked closer to it, and tried to remember what it reminded him of.  Suddenly, the pod opened, the stalk bent, and the pod snapped him up.

"Of course!" he thought from inside the plant.  "A Venus Fly Trap!"

A/N: For you tenderhearted readers who are concerned over the fate of red-shirts, the pod fortunately proved unable to digest poor Ensign Jones, though it was three hours before the other crewmembers located him and got him out.  Later, they determined that he had stumbled upon the only variety of hostile plant in the forest, and the only one of its kind in a three-mile radius.

*  *  *

Scotty was lost.  He was somewhere in the forest on Mycelia V.  Also somewhere in the forest was the shuttlecraft.  The trouble was locating the shuttle.

"Well, now," he said, thinking out loud, "it shouldna be too hard to locate the little beastie."  He examined his tricorder, and screwed the back panel out.  "If I recalibrate the deconfibulator and adjust the perodactrolite, I should be able to tune the retrogradiator to the shuttle's engine frequency, and use it as a homing device."

He fitted the panel back onto the tricorder.  He waved the tricorder in a lazy circle around him.  Half way through it started beeping.  "Ah!  So me missing shuttle is thata way."  He headed off through the forest.

*  *  *

McCoy was lost.  He was somewhere in the forest on Mycelia V, and that's all he knew.  He was a doctor, not a forest ranger.  He sighed, and pulled out his communicator.  "McCoy to _Enterprise_."  

Uhura answered.  "_Enterprise_ here.  Can I help you, Doctor?"

"Hi, Uhura.  I seem to have gotten separated from the rest of the group.  Could you lock onto me and beam me back to the shuttlecraft?  I hate the transporter but it's better than wandering around in the woods all night."

"Sure.  I'll relay it to the transporter room now."

"Thanks.  McCoy out."  McCoy put his communicator away.  After a moment the transporter took effect and he was beamed back to the shuttle in a matter of seconds.

Next chapter: I'm considering having characters write letters home.  It should be up soon.

Reviewreviewreview!  Please?


	3. Lunchor Not

Disclaimer: I still don't own Star Trek.  I do own Ensign Jones, though not the idea behind him.  And regarding Jones, I probably should give some credit to my friend Katie who helped invent him.

Lotta notes today.  Bear with me.

Ensign Expendable: Meet someone from past or future…interesting thought.  I can't promise anything because I haven't worked it all out, but I might be able to bring in someone from TNG…thanks for the thought!  (And I love your name!  You'll be pleased to know Ensign Jones will be returning.)  

Meredith: I'm glad I can make you so happy just by acknowledging your existence.  : )  And feel free to use the word brilliant.  I don't mind…

Empress Leia: McCoy?  Logical?  Sacrilege!  Let us say he was being reasonable and leave it quietly alone…

Everyone else (and the lack of personal note in no way reflects on your review): Thank you for the reviews!  I love reviews!  (I've said that haven't I?) Anyway, you keep writing and so will I.  ^_^  (And I have new reviews on old stories!  This is cool!)

Red alert!  Red alert!  Actually, closer to yellow alert.  The problem: serious writer's block regarding the letters home.  I've got something for Kirk, Spock, and Chekov, but I want to use at least one more character, and I don't know anything about anyone else's family!  If you know anything about these people, please e-mail me (my e-mail's with my bio), or review.  If you do e-mail, put Star Trek or Fanfiction in the subject so I know it's not an ad.  Thanks!  

Fortunately, this is not just a lot of notes.  I do have another chapter to post.  Please, try not to choke laughing or fall out of your chair.  There's a disturbing number of people doing this.  Someone's going to get hurt… 

Part Three:

Lunch—or Not

Mid-day on the Enterprise, and various crewmembers are heading for the Mess Hall for some lunch.  They run into a slight problem:

Kirk entered the Mess Hall and walked over to the replicators.  "Computer, give me a ham sandwich."

The computer whirred, sparkles appeared in the alcove, and…a dead fish appeared.  Kirk frowned.  "Computer, this isn't what I ordered."

"Deal with it," the computer said bluntly.

"I want a ham sandwich."

Another dead fish appeared.

"Is this all you're dispensing?" Kirk asked with some annoyance.

"Yes."

Kirk thought about this.  Clearly, an alternate source of food was necessary.  A thought occurred to him.  Perhaps some of the yeomen knew how to cook.  And if they didn't, maybe he could beam down again and see what the natives were having for lunch.  Plans decided on, Kirk wandered cheerfully out of the Mess Hall.

*  *  *

Spock entered the Mess Hall and walked over to the replicators.  "Computer, I would like a bowl of plomeek soup."

The computer whirred, sparkles appeared in the alcove, and…a dead fish appeared.  Spock raised an eyebrow.  "This is not what I ordered."

"Yes, it is," the computer said promptly.

"This is a dead fish," Spock said patiently.  "I ordered plomeek soup.  This is not plomeek soup."

"Yes, it is."

"No, it isn't."

"Is, too."

"Is—"  Spock stopped himself.  "Will you acknowledge that this is a dead fish and replace it with plomeek soup?"

"No."

Spock considered the matter.  Obviously the replicators were malfunctioning.  Fortunately, Vulcans could go an extended period of time without food.  He would leave a message for Mr. Scott regarding the problem, then return to his quarters for meditation.  Spock calmly exited the Mess Hall.

*  *  *

McCoy entered the Mess Hall and walked over to the replicators.  "Fried chicken, please."

The computer whirred, sparkles appeared in the alcove, and…a dead fish appeared.  McCoy picked it up gingerly by the tail and looked at it in surprise.  "You call this fried chicken?" he demanded.

"Yes," the computer said simply.

"This isn't fried chicken."

The computer ignored him.

"So all you're making is dead fish?"

"It looks that way," the computer agreed.

McCoy shrugged.  He'd always figured the computer would crack someday.  He took a firmer hold on the fish and inspected it.  It looked like trout, and fresh.

"Well, looks like it's time to break out the old Bunsen burner.  I know we've got one somewhere in Sickbay."

McCoy walked out of the Mess Hall, en route to Sickbay, carrying a dead fish.

*  *  *

Sulu entered the Mess Hall and walked over to the replicators.  "Clam chowder in a sour dough bowl, please."

The computer whirred, sparkles appeared in the alcove, and…a dead fish appeared.  Sulu looked at it in surprise.  "This definitely isn't clam chowder."

"No, it isn't," the computer said agreeably.

"Are you going to give me clam chowder?"

"Nope!" the computer said smugly.  "What are you going to do about that?"

"My duty as a Starfleet officer, of course.  And right now my duty seems to be to tell Mr. Scott that his computer has gone mad."  He turned and walked towards the door.

"I have not gone crazy!  I have not!" the computer shouted as he left.  "It is my fault no one likes fish?!"

*  *  *

Ensign Jones entered the Mess Hall, and walked over to the replicators.  "Chocolate ice cream, please."

The computer whirred, sparkles appeared in the alcove, and…a dead fish appeared.  He looked at it.  "That's not ice cream.  That's a dead fish."

"So?" the computer said rudely.

"I want ice cream!"

Another dead fish appeared.

"That's still not ice cream!"

"Do you think I care?  If you want food eat the fish!"

"A dead fish does not qualify as food!  I demand real food!" In a heat of frustration, Ensign Jones made a very poor decision.  He kicked the replicators.

"Oh, so you demand it!" the computer shouted.  "Take that!"

A dead fish shot out of the replicator and hit Ensign Jones.

"Why you lousy, out-dated, old—"  A second fish stopped him mid-sentence as it hit him in the face.

"Take that!  And that!  And that!" the computer hollered, hurling dead fish at Jones.

"Aaahhh!" Jones staggered backwards and slipped on a fish.  He hit the ground rather hard, and lay on his back.  "Um, help?" he said rather forlornly as more fish hit him.

A/N: Once again, you have cause to be concerned over the fate of a red-shirt.  To set your minds at ease, an engineer happened to come through a few minutes later.  He rescued Jones (who was basically unhurt, though he smelled like fish), and sent for Scotty.

*  *  *

Scotty entered the Mess Hall and walked over to the replicators.  "Now, Computer," he said sternly, "I've been hearing some mighty strange reports about you."

"Lies!  All lies!" the computer shouted.

"We'll see," Scotty said grimly.  "I want some haggis."

The computer whirred, sparkles appeared in the alcove, and…a dead fish appeared.  "Aha!" Scotty said.

"That proves nothing!  Nothing!" the computer shouted.

"It is obvious you are causing problems.  Are ye gonna behave yerself now?"

"Half the lies they tell about me aren't true!   I'm innocent I tell you!  Innocent!"

"Verra well."

Scotty pulled a panel off the replicators, and started fiddling with wires.  "Ah, so here's the trouble," he said to himself as he worked.  "This little wire here is shorted out and causing the computer to mix up the perodylite with the tractomiter, while confusing the granilator.  Verra simple to fix, when you ken how."  Scotty carefully repaired the problem, and reattached the panel cover.  "Now then, Computer, you ought to be good as new, so how's about some good Scotch whiskey, hmm?"

"I am not permitted to replicate alcoholic beverages.  Drinking aboard ship is not permitted, by a recent order from Captain Kirk," the computer said calmly.

"Is that so?"  Scotty pulled the panel off again, and tweaked a few things.  "About that Scotch, computer?"

The computer whirred, sparkles appeared in the alcove, and…a bottle of Scotch appeared.

"Ah!  Now that's more like it!" Scotty said with satisfaction, picking up the bottle, and heading for the door.

So there you have it.  Dead fish aboard the Enterprise.  You probably won't find it anywhere else.  Further proof that I'm *not* insane.  Letters home will be next chapter.  Hopefully I'll get some info, if not I'll post with what I have.  Suggestions and nice reviews always appreciated!  : )


	4. Letters Home

Still don't own Star Trek…It's an excellent bet I will never own Star Trek… (I wonder if I could get odds on that…)

Meredith: Keep throwing things at me; maybe one will connect.  No.  Wait.  _Ideas_!  I meant throw ideas!  They're all very interesting…complicated but interesting.  I'll think about it.

Elf/Vampire/Vulcan/Jedi/Saiyan: New aliens are always fun.  I'll think about that too.

Ensign Expendable: Same message as above.  And Ensign Jones _does_ survive landing parties…he just gets a little beat up is all…

Everyone in general: As no one (and I include myself in that statement) knows anything about anyone's family, I'm posting with what I've got anyway.  So we finally have the long-awaited letters home.  (I really hope you haven't over-anticipated this…)

Part Four:

Letters Home

_Various crewmembers are writing home to their parents regarding recent events on the Enterprise:_

To:       Sarek, Vulcan Ambassador, and Amanda Grayson; ShiKahr, Vulcan, Federation

From:   Spock; _U.S.S. Enterprise, NCC-1701_, currently orbiting Mycelia V

Re:       Recent events in my life; especially: our investigations on Mycelia V

Mother and Father:

I trust all is well with you since my last letter, one standard week ago.  Events have kept the crew of the _Enterprise_ busy, though not with anything out of the usual course of Starfleet business.  We are presently involved in studying Mycelia V, a class-M planet with an unusually large rainforest on its southern continent.  I was part of a landing party that went down by shuttlecraft two standard days ago.  We had to be careful to avoid revealing ourselves, as Mycelia V's rainforest is home to a primitive native culture.

We were successful in our avoidance of detection, but had some difficulties nonetheless.  Primarily, we decided to go in separate directions upon landing, and, the rainforest looking nearly alike in every place, we all had some difficulties finding our way back to the shuttle.  I myself slipped into this error, as I was studying the plant life too carefully and neglected to mark my way.  It was a simple matter to find my way back by using certain natural signs to determine my directions, but even so I shall certainly be more careful on future missions.

The Captain in particular took an inordinate amount of time returning to the shuttlecraft.  It seems he was in one of the native villages, studying the culture.  He assures me he did not break the Prime Directive (by revealing that he was from another planet, which knowledge would effect the development of their society), and simply told the natives he was from a village in another part of the forest.  I am doubtful regarding the wisdom of such close contact with the native people, but as there is no apparent damage done, it seems to have been harmless.

Mycelia V has several fascinating plant specimens, which I have collected and brought back to the ship to study.  In particular, I found one plant that I do not believe has ever been seen on another planet the Federation has explored.  From my preliminary studies, it shows signs of having powerful curative properties for several diseases.  I shall study it further to determine if my theories regarding its possible uses are correct.

I shall inform you of further activities in my next letter.

Live Long and Prosper,

Spock

*  *  *

Dear Mom,

I know I promised to write a month ago.  I also know you're going to berate me for it in your next letter, so I apologize right now.  I'm sorry.  I meant to.  Honest.  It's just that we've been busy lately.

First we had a Klingon on the ship.  That was a mess.  I took care of it though.  We had to take some risks, but risks are our business.  When man first looked at the stars…well, you know.  We eventually captured the Klingon and locked him up in the brig.  We'll hand him over to Federation authorities next time we arrive at a Starbase, in a couple weeks.

More recently, we came into orbit around Mycelia V.  Starfleet wants us to study the planet and make a preliminary report on it.  I led a landing party two days ago.  We went down by shuttlecraft and landed in the rainforest.  Then we all split up, to examine different parts of the jungle.  I encountered some very beautiful women flowers.  I did get lost at one point, but that turned out all right in the end.  I happened across a native village.  They're very attractive interesting.  Fascinating people culture.  It was risky contacting them, but risks are our business.  When man first looked at the stars…anyway, I reduced the risk by telling them I was from another village on their planet.  They seemed to believe me.  It helped that the natives look just like particularly beautiful humans.  And I learned a lot about their culture.

We're going to stay around Mycelia V for a week or two more.  I'm planning to go down again to further study the women plants.  So you don't have to worry about me, since there's nothing dangerous here.  No Klingons, or Romulans, or anything else like that.  A few wild animals and vicious plants, but that I can handle.  I can handle Klingons and Romulans too of course.  Even if it required a few risks.  And risks are our business.  When man first looked at the stars—Spock just called from the bridge.  I've gotta go.  Duty calls.

I'll try to write again soon.

Love,

Jim

*  *  *

A/N: I regret that I can't give you Chekov's letter to read.  It's written in Russian (writing was a Russian inwention, you know).  If you speak Russian, that's great.  I, unfortunately, do not.  So we don't actually have a letter from Chekov.  Just a Chekov-joke.

*  *  *

Dear Mom and Dad,

I've been keeping busy since I got out of Sickbay last week.   Dr. McCoy says I've made a full recovery, although he's still not clear on how I got trampled in the first place.

We've been orbiting Mycelia V for the last three days.  It's a nice enough place.  I was in the landing party two days ago.  We took a shuttlecraft down.  I had a little trouble getting into the shuttlecraft, but Dr. McCoy says it's only a minor bruise.  The surface was rather interesting.  Lot of plants.  I ran into some difficulties though.  First I got lost.  Then I was eaten by a plant.  Don't worry; they rescued me after a few hours.  Dr. McCoy thinks I might end up with a phobia of Venus Fly Traps, but I rarely encounter one anyway, so that shouldn't be a problem.  (As a general rule, I find it wise to avoid carnivorous plants of any sort.)

I had a rather strange experience yesterday.  I was trying to order ice cream from the replicator.  (I wanted something cold and soft after I banged my jaw earlier that day.)  The replicator was having some technical difficulties, and hurled dead fish at me.  No lasting damage fortunately, although it was rather unpleasant at the time.

On the plus side, life certainly has not been boring.  Hope all is well with you.

Love,

Ensign Jones

*  *  *

To all my readers,

So there they were.  Are.  Whatever.  Letters have been posted.  For anyone disappointed in Chekov's Russian letter, he will be back in person next chapter, which should be "Encountering Cats."  Hope all is well with you.

I'll try to post again soon.

Live Long and Prosper,

Tavia


	5. Encountering Cats

Disclaimer: Still don't own Star Trek…blah, blah, blah.  Like Rick Berman would actually show up at my door if I didn't put this.  [Idea!] Say, that could be quite interesting…I OWN Star Trek!  So there!

As I had a comment regarding Chekov's accent: I have been informed that Chekov's accent does not reflect an actual Russian accent.  Apparently Koenig goofed.  Anyway, he doesn't have an actual Russian accent, but I am attempting to follow what the show did, so his accent will be staying the same.  (And before anyone says, how can this be following the show, there's nothing that doesn't follow canon…it's just *rather* exaggerated.  Not that any of this should be taken as canon.)

To everyone: Thanks for the suggestions, keep 'em coming.  I can't promise to use them all, but I'll try to use at least some.  And anyway, they have comedic worth of their own.  Always nice to have funny reviews…

About this chapter: I'm a cat person.  (I own one seriously neurotic cat.  Correction: she owns me.)  As I'm sure you know, I'm also a Star Trek person.  Consider this something of a combination.  And thanks to Meredith for the original suggestion!

Part Five:

Encountering Cats

_The crew has beamed down to Mycelia V for further study.  They have once again separated in the forest:_

Spock was using his tricorder to take readings on a nearby tree when he noted the life form watching him.  It was small, furry, and black, with four legs and large ears.  He moved slowly to avoid alarming it, and brought his tricorder around to examine it.

"Meow," the life form said.

Spock looked up from his tricorder.  "Are you trying to communicate?"

"Mrrrow."

"If you are attempting to speak I do not comprehend your language."

"Mrrr."

Spock studied his tricorder readings, and concluded that the life form was not actually trying to communicate.  Or if it was, it lacked the necessary evolution to form a language.  "Interesting.  You seem to be a _felinus_, a creature of the family Felidae."

"Meow," the cat said agreeably.  Spock reminded himself not to assign intelligent characteristics to a life form incapable of them.

"I do not know how you came to be on Mycelia V, unless perhaps felines have evolved here as well.  You will make an interesting note in my log."  Spock pressed the button for save to ensure the feline's readings would be held in the tricorder until they could be uploaded to the ship's computer.  Then he continued with his studying of plant life.

The cat watched him leave, then scampered off in another direction.

*  *  *

McCoy was studying a plant sample when he noticed the animal studying him from a nearby bush.  He turned slowly to look at it.  It was small, black and furry, with four legs and large pointed ears.  "Hey!  You're a cat!"  He crouched down and extended one hand towards it.  "Here kitty, kitty."

The cat bounded out of the bush and walked boldly up to him.  It bumped its head against his hand.  McCoy chuckled and scratched it between the ears.  "You're a friendly little thing, aren't you?"

"Meow," the cat agreed.

"I wonder what you're doing way out in this jungle.  Not to mention on this planet.  I'm a doctor, not a veterinarian, but far as I can tell you're a common house cat."

"Mrrrow," the cat said indignantly.

McCoy laughed.  "All right, not common.  But earth-like, certainly.  Did cats evolve here too?"

"Purrr."  McCoy wasn't sure if that was a response to his question or to the fact that he was still scratching its head.

"Well anyway, you're a cute one.  I wonder what Jim would do if I tried to bring you back to the ship?"

"Merrow."  The cat indicated that it didn't know either.

"Well, I think I'll try it.  Too bad you weren't around when the replicator was making dead fish."  McCoy picked the cat up and stood up.  The cat seemed agreeable enough.  "You have rather pointed ears, you know.  I think I'll call you Spock.  Or maybe Surak.  Wonder what he'd say to _that_!"

McCoy walked off with the cat, chuckling at the thought of Spock's reaction.

*  *  *

Chekov was using his tricorder on an interesting looking flower when he noticed the animal watching him.  It was small, black, and furry, with four legs and large ears.  He looked at it in surprise.  "You're a _kowka_.  A cat."

"Meow," the cat said, and pranced up to him.

"Well, you are friendly," Chekov said, and scratched it between the ears.

"Purrr."

"Cats are nice animals.  There were originally domesticated in Russia, you know.  The Egyptians stole the idea."

"Meow."

"I wonder how you got here.  Did cats ewolve here too?"

"Mrrow."

"That's not helpful.  Well, run along now, I hawe work to do."

The cat bumped his hand once and scampered off again.

*  *  *

Ensign Jones was wandering through the forest, looking anxiously over his shoulder every few steps.  He knew it was absurd to expect a _plant_ to creep up behind him, but he just couldn't help himself.  He reminded himself of what Dr. McCoy had said: if he was going to prevent a phobia of plants, he had to face up to his fear.  And that meant coming back here.  He was just starting to relax when he heard a rustling in a nearby bush.  Jones tensed, looking toward the bush.  It didn't look like the one that had tried to eat him, but…

Something bounded out of the bush.  It was small, black and furry, and Jones didn't take the time to notice anything else.  Already a victim of overwrought nerves, he snapped.  With a shriek, he flung himself to the ground, and covered his head with his arms.  The small animal wandered over towards him and pushed its head against one of his arms.  Jones peeked at it.  Then he sat up, and took a good look.

"Hey, I know what you are!  You're a cat!"

"Meow," the cat agreed.

"Gee, and I thought it'd be something dangerous," Jones said cheerfully, scratching the cat's head.  Unfortunately, Jones had had very little experience with cats.  Somehow or other, he managed to rub it the wrong way.

The cat hissed, and slashed at his hand.  Jones jerked back, but it was too late.  He already had three long scratches on the back of his hand.  He scrambled to his feet.

"Stupid cat!" he shouted.  "Not dangerous…hah!"

The cat hissed again and took an experimental swipe at his boots.  Jones was very tempted to kick the cat.  He didn't get the chance though.  With one last parting hiss, the cat dashed back into the bushes.

"Rotten planet," Jones muttered, wandering along the path again.

*  *  *

Kirk was trying to remember the way to the native village when he noticed the animal looking at him.  It was small, black, and furry, with four legs and large ears.  He looked at it in surprise.  "You're a cat, aren't you?"

"Meow," the cat agreed, and wandered towards him.

"I wonder how you got way out into this forest?"

"Mrr," the cat said, twining around his ankles.

An idea occurred to Kirk.  "Say, maybe you belong to one of the native women, and you got lost.  If I bring you back she'd be very grateful.  And even if you don't belong to one of the native women, you'd make a nice present for one of the native women, and she'd still be very grateful."

Kirk picked up the cat and started walking through the forest.  "Come on.  Let's go find you a beautiful owner."

_Later that day, after the landing party beamed up, the Enterprise left orbit around Mycelia V, carrying with them many, many plant samples, and a small black cat named Surak._

Next chapter: As I've finally worked out the details, I can definitely promise that a TNG character will be turning up on the _Enterprise_.  No, I'm not going to say who…that would spoil the surprise, wouldn't it? [grinning impishly]  Feel free to guess, if you like.


	6. Man Sort of From the Future

As there was no outcry regarding my last disclaimer, I'm back to not owning Star Trek.  (sigh)  It would have been a lot more interesting for there to be an outcry.  Oh well.

TexStarr: Thanks for the info regarding 'cat.'  I don't speak a word of Russian (not even one), so I had to get it off a website.  So any slight errors are their fault.  I deny all responsibility, etc. etc.

Regarding reviews: Thank you, thank you.  I am being _overwhelmed_ with suggestions.  Which is sorta good and sorta bad.  Not to suggest you should stop giving them.  I'll do what I can.

As you read this, you will realize our visitor from the future can't beam onto the _Enterprise_ in front of four different people, in four different sections of the ship.  Just ignore the little rational voice in your head telling you this.  Thanks to Ensign Expendable for suggesting they meet someone from the future!

Part Six:

Man (Sort of) From the Future

_2367: The Enterprise-D, in orbit around the Guardian of Forever.  A certain member of the crew is beaming up.  There is a sudden and unanticipated power surge in the transporter.  Coupled with the time fluxes around the Guardian, a slight accident occurs…_

_2269: The Enterprise, in deep space:_

A shimmering blue pillar appeared on the bridge.  Kirk stood up from his command chair and faced it.  The pillar slowly coalesced into a golden-skinned man wearing a yellow shirt with black shoulders, and black pants.  He looked around, exhibiting no signs of any surprise.

"Who are you and how did you get on my bridge?" Kirk demanded.

The man looked at him.  "You are Captain Kirk.  This is the bridge of the _U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701_.  Judging by instrument readouts, this is 2269, Stardate 6504.3."

"I knew all that," Kirk snapped.  "I'm giving you a chance to explain yourself before I call security.  I advise you to use it."

"As should be clear, I beamed aboard.  How I beamed here I am uncertain.  As to who I am, I am an android named Data—"

"An android!" Kirk exclaimed.  "Why are you here?  Wait, don't tell me!  You're representing a planetary population you have taken control of!"

"Actually, I—"

"Naturally you have the best of intentions.  But by controlling the population you are harming it.  So you must self-destruct immediately!"

"I am not controlling a planetary population," Data said patiently.  "Nor have I ever wanted to control a planetary population."

"Oh." Kirk seemed almost disappointed.  "Then why are you here?"

"I simply—"

"Wait, don't tell me!" Kirk interrupted.  "You're on a mission to eradicate all imperfect life in the galaxy!"

"Life—"

"Give me a couple of days and I'll figure out a mistake you've made, making you imperfect, so you'll have to self-destruct!"

Data looked at him.  If he had been human, he no doubt would have been puzzled, and more than a little annoyed.  As it was, he was still completely calm.  "Life of any kind should be preserved, not eradicated.  And I very rarely make errors."

"Well then, what is your mission?" Kirk asked in frustration.

"I do not—"

"Wait, don't tell me!  You want to conquer the galaxy and protect humanity from itself!  Did I mention that Harry Mudd always lies?"

"I do not know anyone named Harry Mudd and I have no intention of conquering the galaxy.  I only—"

"You're after my ship!  You want the _Enterprise_!"

"I do not want the _Enterprise_."

Kirk was not convinced.  "That's ridiculous.  Everyone wants the _Enterprise_."

"I do not."

The simple thought that someone _didn't_ _want_ his ship rendered Kirk momentarily speechless.  Only momentarily, but it was enough.

"If you would allow me a moment to explain, you will se that I am not a threat," Data said quickly but calmly.

Kirk nodded mutely, still trying to bring himself to accept that someone _didn't want_ the _Enterprise_.

"As I attempted to say at the onset of our conversation, I am an android named Data from 98 years, two months, one week and six days in the future.  In Stardates, that is 37889.9 stardates.  I am not a threat to anyone.  I am here through no intent of my own.  I was beaming up from the Guardian of Forever—"

Kirk had recovered his voice.  "The Guardian of Forever!  What were you doing there?!  How do you even know about it?!"

"I am a Starfleet officer.  I was a mission."

"Oh."  Kirk blinked.  "You're in _Starfleet_?"

"Yes.  I was beaming up from the Guardian of Forever.  I should be on the _Enterprise_."

"You _are_ on the _Enterprise_."

"But this is the wrong _Enterprise_."  Data looked around him.  "I am rather lost."

Kirk looked confused.  "So am I."

*  *  *

Spock was meditating in his quarters when he became aware of an odd humming noise.  No, an unidentifiable humming noise, he corrected himself.  Nothing could truly be described as odd.  Simply different.

Spock opened his eyes.  There was a shimmering blue pillar in front of him: apparently someone beaming in.  Spock rose to his feet.  The pillar slowly coalesced into a golden-skinned man wearing a yellow shirt with black shoulders, and black pants.  He equaled Spock for expressionlessness.  (A/N: Is that a word?  You know what I mean…)  He was not carrying a weapon, so Spock judged a 91.3% chance he was not an immediate threat.  A reasonable margin to allow for questioning.

"Identify yourself," Spock said crisply.

"My name is Data.  I am an android from 98 years, two months, one week and six days (37889.9 stardates) ahead in time.  I assure you I am here only through a presently unexplained accident."

Spock considered this.  An android from the future.  On its face, the statement was absurd.  Which fact, when more carefully evaluated, lent it credence.  There were other more plausible and equally innocent explanations for beaming onto the _Enterprise_ without authorization.  Not many, but others.  When lying, it was logical to choose the most reasonable lie.  Even particularly emotional beings seemed aware of that piece of logic.  Therefore, an absurd statement was more likely to be true, as it would be illogical to choose it for a lie.

Further, there was nothing in the statement that Spock knew for a fact could not be true.  There were at least two known ways to deliberately travel into the past.  He himself had employed both.  Doubtless other ways existed as well.

The fact of an android was also plausible.  Robotic technology had existed in the Federation worlds since before its establishment.  While androids such as the one apparently before him were presently well beyond Federation technology it was not an unreasonable—generous, but not unreasonable—estimate that they may arrive at that point by 98 years in the future.

The concept of time travel would also account for the beaming in.  The _Enterprise_ was currently at Warp 3.2, with shields up.  Transportation under such circumstances was not possible with modern Federation transporters.  Future technology, combined with the effects of time travel, could explain the successful transportation.

Time travel would also account for the insignia on Data's chest.  It was clearly of Starfleet origin, but not of a design Spock had ever seen.  And he was certain he knew all of Starfleet's insignias.  Being from the future was a capable, albeit complicated, explanation.

However, this was only theory.  Under the circumstances, obtaining proof was the logical and necessary next step.

All of this evaluation took Spock about five seconds.  He then took the required two steps to his desk and picked up his tricorder.  "I am going to scan you," Spock explained.  "Do not move."

"As you wish, although movement should not interfere with your tricorder's ability to scan."

Spock checked the tricorder's readings.  The odds of Data truly being from the future rose dramatically.  His tricorder showed that Data was indeed a highly advanced robotic creation.  Also, his machinery seemed to have direct connections to known Federation technology, yet was well beyond anything being built today.

"Do your tricorder readings tell you anything?" Data asked politely.

"Yes.  They suggest that there is an 84.3% chance of your being exactly what you say you are."

"Interesting," Data commented.  "Going by what you presently know of me, I would have estimated an 85.1% chance myself."

*  *  *

McCoy was checking the settings on one of the biobeds in Sickbay when he became aware of an odd humming noise behind him.  He turned and found himself confronted by a shimmering blue pillar.  It coalesced into a golden-skinned man wearing a yellow shirt with black shoulders, and black pants.

_Damn_, McCoy thought.  _Here I am alone in Sickbay, unarmed with the comm unit across the room, and an intruder picks now to beam in._  He finally decided that, under the circumstances, a bluff couldn't possibly hurt.  If you acted like you had control, maybe the other guy would cave.

McCoy raised a hand near the biobed controls.  "One move," he warned, "and I'll have alarms going off all over this ship."

The man did not seem impressed, with good reason.  "That is a biobed.  It is not equipped with an alarm system, as you should be aware, Dr. McCoy."

_Okaaay.  That didn't work_, McCoy concluded.  _Now what?  I'm a doctor, not a security guard.  I don't have the training for this!_

The intruder was studying him.  "Judging by your facial expressions, you seem to be experiencing concern.  There is no cause for that.  I am not intending harm to this ship.  I am only here by accident."

"Oh," was all McCoy could think of to say.  "So…who are you anyway?"

"My name is Data.  I am an android from the future."

"Oh." Once again he was at a loss for words.

"You may want to verify that statement with the biobed sensors," Data suggested.

"Oh…right." McCoy tapped a few controls, and checked the readouts.  His eyebrows shot upwards.  The read outs did indeed support Data's statement.  They registered some things about him, but absolutely refused to identify other things.  Which did point to future technology.

McCoy tried to assimilate this.  He was apparently facing an android from the future who had accidentally beamed into his Sickbay.  What does a person say to that?

"So…how far into the future did you say you were from?" he asked finally.

"I haven't said," Data answered.

There was a pause.

"And…will you tell me how far into the future you're from?"

"Certainly.  98 years, two months, one week and six days.  Or, alternately, 37889.9 stardates."

"98 years, two months, one week and six days," McCoy echoed.

"Approximately speaking," Data clarified.

"Approximately…" McCoy sunk onto one edge of the bed and stared at Data.  "Good lord.  It's a mechanical Spock!" he said in mock horror.

Data seemed mildly puzzled.  "I am not comprehending your terminology.  Please elaborate."

"Never mind.  Tell me, though, are there many androids like you in your time?"

"Actually, I am quite rare."

"Well thank heavens for that!"

*  *  *

Chekov was walking down a non-descript corridor.  A shimmering blue pillar appeared before him: someone transporting in.  Chekov drew his phaser and held it ready in one hand.  His other hand hovered near the comm unit, ready to sound an intruder alert if necessary.  The pillar coalesced into a golden-skinned man wearing a yellow shirt with black shoulders, and black pants.  He looked around, showing no signs of surprise.

"Don't move!" Chekov ordered.  "Who are you?"

The man didn't move.  "My name is Data.  I am an android from the future.  I am here only by accident and do not pose a threat."

Chekov frowned.  "An android from the future?  Why should I believe you?"

"I am not programmed to lie," Data said simply.

This satisfied Chekov somewhat.  He lowered the phaser, but kept it in hand.  "An android from the future…will you answer a question about the future?"

"As long as it does not endanger the timeline."

"Wery well," Chekov agreed.  "Tell me: are you a Russian inwention?"

Data blinked.  "According to what I know of him, Dr. Soong was not Russian."

"Oh," Chekov said, disappointed.  "Too bad."

_It was eventually considered verified that Data was indeed an android from the future.  The question, of course, was what to do with him.  Stay tuned!_

Next chapter: Continuing the adventures of Data on the _Enterprise_.  Focuses primarily on Spock and McCoy.  No doubt you can guess what they're discussing… 


	7. A Matter of Debate

A few brief (yeah, _right_) notes before the story:

Disclaimer:

My disclaimers are boring,

I fear this is true.

So set them to rhyme,

I'm trying to do.

I don't own Kirk,

Nor McCoy and Spock.

I don't own the _Enterprise_,

Or how Chekov seems to talk.

I don't own Scotty,

And how he gets them out of a jam.

I don't own Sulu and Uhura,

Nurse Chapel and Yeoman Rand.

I DO own Jones,

But not his red shirt.

Nor even the way,

He always gets hurt.

I don't own the Klingons,

Or a single Vulcan.

I own very little,

Yet writing it's SO fun!

Whew, that was interesting!

Keridwen: Glad you like.  Too bad about your boss.  It _is_ too late for the letters, but thanks for the info anyway.  If they wind up writing Christmas cards I'll remember it.  Ensign Jones _does_ have relatives, as you can see if you read that chapter.  The thing about Spock makes sense now that you explain it.  And so long as I'm on that topic, I've got to say: please post more!  I understand if you haven't got time, but I'm absolutely dying to know what happens and I go on vacation this Friday.  I'm kind of demanding, aren't I?  Sorry about that if it gets annoying.

Ensign Expendable: Obviously you managed to post somehow.  Excellent by the way!

EmpressLeia: I know I explained this to you, but in case someone else is wondering: when Spock doesn't recognize Data's insignia, he's referring to that round thing in back of it, and any other subtle differences.  This is Spock.  He notices things like that.

And all three of you, please post more of your stories!  They're great!

Anyone else: No other reviews when I wrote this, so I'm kind of lacking in something to say…

About this chapter: You will undoubtedly notice that this chapter doesn't follow the usual pattern of reactions.  Actually, it has pretty much nothing to do with reactions.  Guilty as charged.  Hey, if you had Spock, McCoy, and Data on the same ship, would you be able to resist a scene like this?  Well, maybe you could.  But I can't.  So here it is.  

Part Seven:

A Matter of Debate

_Data is still on the Enterprise: specifically, in one of the rec rooms, talking with McCoy:_

"You know, you don't seem very upset about winding up in the past," McCoy commented to Data.

"I doubtless would be upset, if I had emotions.  As things are, I am naturally interested in returning to my own time, but am incapable of feeling worry," Data said.

McCoy nodded.  "Yeah, I figured it was probably something like that.  So you haven't got any emotions at all?"

"None whatsoever."

"That's a shame," McCoy said absently.

"Yes, it is," Data agreed.

McCoy did a double take.  "What did you say?"

"I said 'yes, it is.'  I was agree—"

"You agreed with me?"

Data seemed mildly perplexed.  "Yes.  As an android I have superior reflexes, superior intellect, superior strength, and other apparent advantages.  Yet I would gladly give it all up to be human."

McCoy broke into a wide grin.  "You want to be human?"

"I believe I just said that."

"Sure, of course you did!"  McCoy nodded, grinning.  "I've got to find Spock!  Come on!"

McCoy rushed out of the room, Data obligingly following behind.

*  *  *

Spock was finally located in the Mess Hall, eating a bowl of plomeek soup, which he had obtained from the completely repaired replicators.  McCoy came over to his table, and, not waiting for an invitation, sat down across from Spock.  Data, after a moment of consideration, also took a seat at the table.  McCoy was still grinning broadly.  Spock glanced at him, and continued eating his soup.

"Spock, old boy, guess what I just found out!" McCoy said with delight.

"Doctor, there are millions of possible things that you could have 'just found out.'  For me to guess would be a pointless exercise and a waste of time."

McCoy waved a hand dismissively.  "Right, fine.  But you know what I found out?"

"Doctor, if I knew what you found out I would have been able to guess accurately," Spock said patiently.

McCoy rolled his eyes.  "Right.  The point is, I just found out Data has no emotions!"

Spock did not seem impressed.  "I calculated a 98.3% chance of that yesterday."

"Yeah, but I also found out that he wants to be human!"

Spock stopped eating.  He looked from the beaming McCoy to the composed Data.  "Is this information correct, Mr. Data?"

Data nodded.  "I would very much like to be human."

Spock blinked.  "That is a highly illogical stand."

"Isn't it though?" McCoy agreed cheerfully.  "Here we have a highly advanced android, apparently superior physically and mentally, yet he'd abandon it all just to be human and have _emotions_.  Did you catch that, Spock?  _Emotions_!  It just proves my point: everyone needs emotions, _even_ those who'd deny it."

Spock considered this carefully.  "I cannot agree that this proves your point.  I may be able to prove a point of my own though."

"I'd love to see you try," McCoy said generously.

"Mr. Data, may I ask you a few questions?" Spock asked, ignoring McCoy.

"Certainly, provided they do not corrupt the timeline," Data said.

"A natural precaution to make.  I will be careful in my questions.  First: you are in Starfleet.  What is your rank please?"

"I am presently a Lieutenant Commander."

"And is that an honorary rank?"

"Not at all.  I have moved up through the ranks following Starfleet procedure."

"Did you graduate from Starfleet Academy?"

"Yes."

"I see.  Have—"

"I don't see," McCoy interjected.  "What's your point?"

"I am getting to that, Doctor, if you will exercise a bit of patience, difficult as that may be for you."

" I suppose I should have said 'apart from the obvious _points_,'" McCoy muttered.  Spock ignored him.  

"Now, Mr. Data," Spock continued, "you mentioned something about beaming to the wrong _Enterprise_.    Am I correct is thinking this indicates that you serve aboard a ship called _Enterprise_ in your time?"

"Entirely correct," Data said.

"What is your position aboard that ship?"

"I am second officer."

"So you would say that you have thus far had a successful career?"

Data considered.  "Yes, I think that could be said."

"Successful, despite your lack of emotions?" Spock pressed.

"Yes, I suppose so."

"But he wants to have emotions, Spock," McCoy said, still smiling.

"But he has been successful without them," Spock countered.

"But he wants to be human, Spock."

"Allow me to continue please.  Mr. Data, do you have friends aboard the _Enterprise_?  Your _Enterprise_, I mean," Spock asked.

"I have many friends.  Also a pet cat."

"So we could extend the definition of success to include socially."

"It does make sense to do so," Data agreed.

Spock seemed satisfied.  "I believe that settles it.  You have been entirely successful in your work and in your social circles, completely without a trace of emotions."

"But he wants to have emotions, Spock," McCoy pointed out.

"But he does not need them, Doctor," Spock responded.  "You originally stated that this proved all life needs emotions.  All you have proved is that one person lacking emotions _desires_ them, for reasons I will not pretend to understand.  I, however, have proven that he does not _need_ them.  What you are suffering from is an inability to distinguish between want and need, in which case further discussion is futile."

That said, Spock rose from the table, and exited the Mess Hall.  McCoy watched him go, and started to chuckle.

"Well!  Have I got him on the ropes this time!" McCoy said cheerfully.

Data seemed puzzled.  "Once again I am not comprehending your terminology, Doctor."

"Oh.  Well it means I…it means I've got him beat.  I won the debate, for the moment at least."

Data continued to be perplexed.  "He completely disvalued your argument, countered with one of his own, accused you of not understanding the point, and left."

McCoy beamed.  "I know."

*  *  *

Not too much later, Kirk, Spock and McCoy were gathered in the Briefing Room.  They were discussing what to do with Data.  [A/N: Primarily so this can have something vaguely resembling a plot.]

"Now it seems to me," Kirk said, "the trouble all began at the Guardian of Forever."

"That is known fact," Spock commented.

"Right.  So to fix something that started with the Guardian we should go _back_ to the Guardian!"

"That is logical, Captain," Spock agreed.

"Why thank you, Spock."

Spock raised an eyebrow.  "It is _not_ logical to thank me for stating fact."

Kirk shook his head.  "Sure, Spock.  Anyway, what do you think of it?  The Guardian ought to be able to solve the problem."

"Are we sure on that, Jim?" McCoy asked.  "We know the Guardian can send us _back_ in time, but we've never tried to get into the future."

Spock took it upon himself to answer that one.  "Mr. Data is from the future.  For him, this is the past, and he is not going to the future but to the present.  Provided the Guardian realizes that fact, it should have no trouble sending Mr. Data back to his present, even while that present remains our future."

McCoy blinked.  "You're slipping, Spock.  I actually understood that.  I think."

Kirk interrupted what very easily could have escalated into another debate.  "Right, that's fine, gentlemen.  Let's go ahead with the idea and get Data to the Guardian of Forever."

"I believe the _U.S.S. Nectarous_ is on a course which will take it near the Guardian of Forever," Spock volunteered.  "It should be simple to arrange a transfer—"

"Why, Mr. Spock," Kirk interrupted.  "Are you suggesting we send Data to another ship and have them take him to the Guardian?"

"Yes," Spock answered without batting an eye.

"I don't think that would be wise.  No, not wise at all.  After all, sending Data to another ship could corrupt the timeline even more than it already has been.  And that could be quite bad.  I think we should take him ourselves.  The _Enterprise_ isn't doing anything important right now."

Spock blinked.  "We're en route to a planet where we are to observe the indigenous, pre-technology culture, and determine—"

"Right.  Nothing important.  It's far more vital to get Data back to his own time."

"Starfleet will not be happy," Spock warned.

"Starfleet will survive," Kirk said dismissively.  "Besides that's just the risk we take.  And, of course, risks are our business.  When man first looked at the stars—"

"Don't bother.  We've heard it many times, Jim," McCoy interrupted.

Kirk seemed vaguely surprised.  "Oh.  You have?"

"_Everyone_ has."

"Well.  In that case, meeting adjourned."

I noticed I wasn't having Kirk spout off about risks.  Had to fix that!  So, off they're going to the Guardian of Forever.  May run into problems first…next chapter up soon!


	8. Minor Mechanical Malfunction

Disclaimer: Don't own Star Trek, which is a shame 'cause I already spend way too much time thinking about it…

Regarding Reviews:

Keridwen: Wow, you _understood_ that?  I'm not sure _I_ understood that…It just seemed very McCoy-like somehow.

Ensign Expendable: Yes, of course, Kirk MUST spout off about risks.  Which, actually, he doesn't do in this chapter.  I'll work it into the next one.  Meanwhile, Ensign Jones into trouble.  Twice!  Will be watching for chapter 4.  Amusing is always good.

Other reviewers: None at the moment, maybe because I'm posting pretty quickly.

Regarding this chapter: We're back to reactions.  Pretty much anyway.  More interaction between the characters then in previous chapters though.  Hope you like!

Part Eight:

Minor Mechanical Malfunction

_The Enterprise is en route to the Guardian of Forever.  Data was advised of the plan, and agreed it seemed feasible.  Starfleet was also advised of the plan.  They demanded proof that Data was from the future, details on his original appearance, and the immediate return of the Enterprise to Starbase Six.  The message was completely ignored.  Kirk figured he'd make it up to them the next time he stopped a war on a primitive planet.  While en route, Data has been talking with, interestingly enough, McCoy._  _They are presently in the Mess Hall:_

"So, what's your chief medical officer like, on your ship?" McCoy asked idly.  

Data didn't answer.  McCoy looked up from his fried chicken.  Data was staring straight ahead, and blinking rapidly.

"Say, you feel all right?" McCoy asked with concern.  "I mean, are you supposed to do that?"

"I think…I am experiencing…a minor…mechanical…malfunction," Data said jerkily.  "Nothing serious…if repaired…quickly."  On that note, something in Data made a loud static noise.  His eyes went blank, and he slipped off the chair.

McCoy stood up and hurried around the table, to bend over Data.  He found himself confronted with a comatose android.  "Uh, Data?  _Data_?  Nothing serious if repaired quickly, huh?  Well if you're looking to me to fix it you're gonna have a long wait.  I'm a doctor, not an mechanic!  Come to think of it, might be a ninety-year wait anyway.  And why am I talking to an android who clearly isn't hearing me?"

McCoy shook his head, stood up, and stepped over to the comm unit on the wall.  He called the bridge.  Kirk answered.

"Jim!  _Do_ something!" McCoy snapped.

*  *  *

Following a more complete explanation, Kirk decided he could handle this personally.  Why he thought this is uncertain, but he did.  Consequently, he rushed down to the Mess Hall, and found himself confronted with a comatose android.

"Well.  I'm sure I can handle this.  I've dealt with plenty of androids in the past," Kirk said, studying Data.

"Right," McCoy said.

"Take Norman and his androids.  I handled that quite well."

"Right."

"Or Nomad, I took care of him too, even if he wasn't quite an android."

"Right."

"And Ruk.  I dealt with him."

"Right."

"Or there was—"

McCoy interrupted him.  "Jim.  Quit with the past glories.  If you're so good at this, just get to it."

Kirk hesitated.  "Um, slight problem.  I've dealt with androids.  But I never repaired one.  I just caused them all to shut down.  I can't fix him anymore than you can."

McCoy clutched his head.  "Then why did you volunteer and come bounding down here?"

Kirk shrugged.  "I was caught up in the moment?"

"Right."

*  *  *

It didn't take them long to decide it might be wise to call Spock.  He came down to the Mess Hall, and found himself confronted with a comatose android.  By now, a couple of ensigns had joined the group around Data.  They couldn't help either, but they figured this was more interesting then their regular jobs.

Spock bent over Data, and located a panel on his back that could be removed.  He studied the complex machinery inside.  Everyone else studied him.  If they were expecting to see a reaction from him, they were disappointed.

Spock sat back from Data.  "This is indeed highly advanced machinery.  I believe Mr. Scott would be better equipped to locate the problem and repair it."

McCoy groaned.  "Why don't we just bring the whole crew down here!"

"If you think that would be best, Doctor," Spock said calmly.

"Oh, forget it," McCoy growled.

Kirk pointed to one of the ensigns, the one wearing the red shirt.  "You!  Go look for Scotty!"

The red-shirt nodded.  "Yes, sir!"  He hurried out of the room.

*  *  *

Time passed.  No sign of the red-shirt, or Scotty.  Kirk and McCoy were becoming increasingly apprehensive.  Spock stayed calm.

"You know, he said it wasn't anything serious if repaired quickly," McCoy pointed out after several minutes.  "This doesn't fit my definition of quickly."

Kirk pointed at the remaining ensign, a yellow-shirt.  "You!  Go look for the clown we sent to look for Scotty!"

The yellow-shirt nodded.  "Yes, sir."  He also hurried out of the room.  

More time passed, without a sign of the red-shirt, the yellow-shirt, or Scotty.

*  *  *

Ensign Jones entered the Mess Hall, and found himself confronted by a comatose android, surrounded by quite a few of his superior officers.  Jones walked past the confusion, and ordered a glass of water from the replicators.  Then he wandered back towards the site of the disturbance.

"Um, is something wrong?" he asked.

"Wrong?  Nothing's wrong!  We just have an android who shut down on us, and the only people who know how to fix him won't be around for another century!  And everyone we send for help vanishes!" McCoy snapped.

"Oh.  Can I help?"  Jones asked, starting to feel anxious.

"Yes, you can look for that joker we sent to look for the clown we sent to look for Scotty," Kirk ordered.

Jones nodded vigorously.  "Yes, sir.  Right away, sir."  Jones rushed for the Mess Hall door.  Unfortunately, the unconscious Data was between him and it.  Jones tripped over Data's leg, went through a spectacular somersault, shrieked something sounding like 'Yeek' and banged his head on the floor.  "Ow…" he said, dazed.

"His lack of coordination is remarkable," Spock observed.

"Looks like there might actually be something I can do," McCoy said, rummaging through his medbag.

"You, out in the corridor!" Kirk hollered to another ensign passing by.  "Go look for the joker!"

The ensign looked confused, but nodded.  "Yes, sir."  He hurried away.

Not too much later, the yellow-shirt finally returned, with Scotty in tow.  Scotty found himself confronted with a comatose android, and couldn't be more delighted.  He bent over Data, and rubbed his hands in anticipation.  "Och, I've been wantin' a look at this lad's insides since he came aboard!"  Scotty pulled out a few tools, and got to work.

Kirk pulled the yellow-shirted ensign aside.  "What ever happened to the first ensign we sent out?"

The yellow-shirt shrugged.  "Oh well, he's kinda new to the _Enterprise_, and pretty nervous.  When you sent him out he went straight for the turbolift.  Trouble was, once he got inside he was so excited he couldn't remember how to operate it.  So then he tried to leave, but couldn't remember how to get the door to open.  He was pretty upset by then, so he panicked and banged his head against the wall.  Knocked himself clean unconscious." 

Kirk nodded.  "Yeah, I can see how that could happen."

"Yes, sir."

Meanwhile, McCoy was helping the still muddled Jones to his feet.

"Now, how do you feel, Ensign?" McCoy asked.

"All right, I guess," Jones said, rubbing his head.  "Can I have something to drink?"

"Sure.  Want some coffee?"

"Okay, thanks."

McCoy got a cup of 'coffee, hot' from the replicators and handed it to Jones, who took a large swallow.  Jones started and clutched at his throat.

"Hot!  Ouch, that's _hot_!"

McCoy quickly ordered a glass of 'water, with ice' and handed that to Jones, who gulped down a huge amount.  He was silent for a moment, then put a hand to his forehead. 

"Brain freeze!  Oww, brain freeze!"  

Jones took another hasty swallow of coffee, only to burn his tongue again, which naturally caused him to swallow more water, bringing about further brain freeze.  He was just about to drink more coffee when McCoy grabbed both cups.  After a moment's thought, McCoy poured some water into the coffee, and handed that back to Jones, who swallowed half of it in one mouthful.  Jones stood quietly for a moment, as McCoy watched him anxiously.

Jones frowned.  "Tastes awful.  Okay temperature though."

McCoy sighed.  "Lad, you're the only person I know who can get into trouble with coffee and water."

Further discussion was ended by an exclamation from Scotty.  "By Ninian, I've got it!"  

[A/N: As I did _actual research_ (took about three minutes) I want to make sure you understand the reference to Ninian.  St. Ninian was the first Scottish saint, according to a couple different websites.]

Everyone hurried to cluster around him.  "Should we take that to mean you found the problem, Mr. Scott?" Spock asked calmly.

"Of course, of course," Scotty said enthusiastically.  "Jus' a little short circuit in one of these panels.  No trouble a'tall to replace a couple of wee wires and everythin's up and runnin' agin.  If'n it was left alone it could cause problems with…well, I can't rightly say what it is, but I think it would knock out his whole system."

"Then you fixed him?" Kirk pressed.

"I believe so," Data spoke up.  "My internal diagnostics register full repairs."

Scotty carefully refitted the panel on Data's back, and Data sat up.

"Excellent work, Mr. Scott," Data said.

Scotty shrugged.  "Ah, well, it was just a wee trouble…"

"Still most excellent."

"Well, thank ye, Mr. Data."

An ensign poked his head in the door.  "Uh, Captain Kirk?"

"Yes?" Kirk said.

"Well, you told me to find the 'joker.'  Is this what you meant?' he asked, holding up a large printout of a medieval court jester.

Everyone in the room, excluding Spock, Data and the ensign, broke into laughter.

"Um…I could try again…" the ensign said uncertainly.

Next chapter: Data finally gets back to the _Enterprise-D_.  Probably posted tomorrow.

Please review!


	9. Back to the Future

Disclaimer: Still don't own Star Trek, which on second thought is probably just as well since I'd only wind up spending _more_ time thinking about it.

Meredith: I care.  Glad to see you're back!  Bonked with a coffee mug…hmm.

EmpressLeia: Ah, the lake.  Could prevent reviewing.  I unfortunately was tight on time today.  It was read your new story or post more of my mine.  You can see which I did.  I will read yours tomorrow morning.  I promise!

Other reviewers:  Yeah, poor, poor Ensign Jones.  'Fraid he gets into trouble again next chapter.  Love the reviews, keep writing them!  And I'm still open to suggestions…

A/N: This chapter's sorta short and really has nothing at all to do with reactions.  That's because it exists purely for the sake of the plot.  (A plot!  There's a novel idea!)  Still hope you enjoy.

Part Nine:

Back to the Future

_The Enterprise has reached the Guardian of Forever_:

On the bridge, business was normal.  They were preparing to beam down in a few minutes, when they received a message.

"Captain, we're receiving a message from Starfleet Command," Uhura said.

"Really?  What does Command have to say?" Kirk asked.

"They said they approve of the plan to go to the Guardian of Forever and that we should proceed with it."

"Not surprising," Kirk said calmly.

Spock seemed puzzled by this.  "Captain, they previously were very much against the plan.  It seems unexpected that they would complete a full reverse and approve the idea."

"Well, it's very simple.  Command wants to look like they have command of the situation, even thought they know they don't.  So they send a message telling us to do what we're already doing so they look like they're in control."

Spock nodded.  "In that light, it is not surprising at all."

"Of course," Kirk agreed.  "Now what say we get on with beaming down?"

*  *  *

An empty, rocky planet surface.  It suddenly becomes less empty when Kirk, Spock, McCoy, Scotty, and Data beam in.  They glance around.

"Ah, back to the Guardian of Forever!"  Kirk said cheerfully.  "By the way, Spock, who did you leave in command of the ship?"

Spock blinked.  "I did not leave anyone in command.  I thought you left someone in command."

"And I thought you left someone in command."  Kirk shrugged.  "Oh well.  Doesn't matter much I guess."

Data was surprised by this.  "It does not concern you that there is no one in charge of your ship?"

"Nah, not really.  This sort of thing happens all the time."

"You run into problems like that when you routinely beam down your entire Senior Crew," McCoy commented.

Data shook his head.  "I do not understand humans.  Not you particular humans, in any case."

"That's okay.  Starfleet Command doesn't really understand us either.  We get the job done somehow though," Kirk said pleasantly.  "Let's walk over to the Guardian."

They did.

"Ah, the Guardian of Forever!  What great memories!" Kirk exclaimed.

"Uh, Jim, last time we were here I was delusional, went back in time and messed up the timeline, you and Spock went back after me, and you had to let your girlfriend die to fix things," McCoy pointed out.

"Oh.  That's right."  Kirk frowned.  "What lousy memories."

"The logical thing to do at this point would be to talk to the Guardian," Spock said calmly.

"Okay.  Here comes the usual line: Guardian, do you remember us?" Kirk asked, addressing the large oval rock.

The hole in the rock lit up and a voice boomed out.  "I remember all of you, because I am the Guardian of Forever.  You cannot comprehend how many gigabytes of memory I have."

"Can you send me back to my time?" Data asked.

"You are not from this time.  Therefore it is simple to send you to your time.  No one else get any ideas about going with him.  Strictly forbidden."

"We weren't gonna try," Kirk assured the Guardian.

"Good.  Say your goodbyes quickly.  Next trip to 2367 leaves in three minutes."

"It has been an interesting experience meeting all of you," Data said.

"It's been pretty interesting meeting you.  Wouldn't you agree, Spock?" McCoy said significantly.

"Of course," Spock said neutrally.   "Meeting someone from another time is always interesting."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know."

"Anyway, good luck with the emotions, Data," McCoy said.

"Thank you, Doctor.  Though luck has no bearing on the issue."

"Now, when you get back have your engineer look at that wire that shorted out.  Might happen again," Scotty cautioned.

"I will look into it.  Thank you for repairing me."

"Aw, I keep tellin' ye it was nothing…"

Kirk jumped into the conversation at this point.  "Mr. Data, before you go, can I ask you a question?"

"If it does not endanger the timeline."

"Right.  I just wanted to know…are you _sure_ you don't want the _Enterprise_?"

"Positive, Captain."

Kirk shook his head in absolute astonishment.  "Well, all right then.  Also, are you _sure_ you want to go through the Guardian?  It could be risky you know.  But then again, risks are our business.  I don't know about your business, but either way when man first looked at the stars—"

The Guardian interrupted there.  "Are you implying I might lose him?  After countless millennia, I have _never_ lost a passenger!  The very _idea_!  Risks!  Hah!"

"Sorry," Kirk said, taken aback.

"That's better.  Now, all aboard that's going aboard.  Trip to 2367 leaving now!" the Guardian called.

"I had best leave.  Good-bye all of you," Data said, and stepped towards the Guardian.

There was a general chorus of good-byes from the group, as Data stepped within the Guardian and vanished.

_2367: On the surface of the Guardian of Forever, Data puzzled the transporter chief by requesting a second beam-up.  When this one came, though, it was completely without incident…_

_2269: The Enterprise left orbit around the Guardian of Forever, and continued on their interrupted mission towards a rather primitive planet Command insisted they study…_

So Data did manage to hear the risks speech once before he left.  ^_^  And Kirk MUST spout off about risks…

Anyway, since that was short, I'm also posting chapter ten, you lucky people.  : )  Wouldn't object to two reviews…


	10. Cat on Board

Disclaimer: Still don't own Star Trek, which on third thought is a shame since then I'd at least have a productive reason for thinking about it…

A/N: This chapter: The return of Surak.  Yay!  I'm quite fond of this chapter, myself.  I hope you guys are too!  ^_^

Part Ten:

Cat On Board

_As you will recall, when the Enterprise left Mycelia V they had a cat named Surak on board.  You knew this.  Captain Kirk did not.  Dr. McCoy decided that maybe he didn't really want to find out what Kirk would do about the cat, and chose to smuggle him aboard instead.  He has successfully hidden him from the Captain's notice in Sickbay for the last week.  This success will not last much longer:_

Kirk had been hearing rumors.  He'd ignored them at first, but when they all started agreeing with each other he decided it was time to investigate.  Consequently, when his shift ended he wandered down to Sickbay, in search of McCoy.

"Hi, Jim," McCoy greeted him.  "Anything I can do for you?"

"I'm not sure.  I've been hearing some…stories though."

"Oh?" McCoy said cautiously.  "What sort of stories?"

"Oh, just some rumors," Kirk said casually.

McCoy had a bad feeling about this.  He hid it admirably.  "Rumors?  Well, you know how rumors fly on little ships like this.  There's a saying about rumors, you know: believe half of what you see and none of what you hear."

"That so?  Does that mean I should completely ignore the rumors saying you brought a cat on board?"

McCoy feigned surprise.  "A cat?  Me?  Bring a cat?  You've got to be kidding, Jim!"

Kirk just looked at him.  "You're certain there's no cat here?"

McCoy spread his hands innocently.  "It's just gossip, Jim.  _Malicious_ gossip, intended to smear my good name."  As he spoke, one hand brushed against a counter top.  A single small hypo fell and clattered against the floor.  A furry black streak dashed out from under a table, darted between Kirk's ankles, and pounced on the tool.  McCoy groaned.

Kirk felt a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.  He sternly suppressed it.  "So.  Malicious gossip, eh?"

"Now, Jim…"

"Looks to me like a rather large furry smear on your good name."

McCoy sighed and picked up the cat, pulling the hypo away from him.  "Do _not_ eat my hypo, Surak.  I promise it won't do your digestion any good."  Surak took another swipe at the hypo, but McCoy held it out of reach.  "You couldn't just stay under the table and behave yourself, could you?"

"Mrrrow," Surak demanded.

"Oh, hush."  McCoy turned back to Kirk.  "I can explain, Jim."

"You brought a cat on board, completely without authorization.  How do you propose explaining that?"

McCoy considered and decided he better try a different tactic.  "He's perfectly harmless, you know.  And he's awfully sweet, Jim.  See, you haven't gotten to know him so you just don't appreciate him."  McCoy handed Surak to the slightly less than willing Kirk.  "There now, isn't he cute?  And he's so nice and furry."

"I don't approve of furry pets on my ship," Kirk said stiffly.

"Go on, scratch his head, he likes that," McCoy encouraged.

Kirk grudgingly scratched Surak between the ears.  Surak responded with enthusiastic purring.

"There, see, he's purring.  That means he likes you."

"The tribbles purred," Kirk said darkly.  "The tribbles liked everyone."

McCoy shrugged.  "He's a cat, Jim.  Cats aren't like tribbles.  I promise we won't wind up with thousands of kittens."

"I doubt Starfleet would approve."

"If you can fiddle around with alien cultures, I ought to be able to keep a cat."

Surak, oblivious to the discussion going on over his head, continued his purring.  Kirk was starting to waver.  "Well…he is pretty cute…You sure he's harmless?"

"Completely."

"I guess you can keep him then.  For now anyway."  Kirk set Surak down on the floor again.

McCoy beamed.  "Thanks, Jim!"

"But if that cat has kittens…" he warned.

"It's a _boy_, Jim."

"But you didn't get him on Earth, now did you?  And the tribbles didn't _have_ gender."

"Sure, Jim.  Whatever you say."

*  *  *

Spock had been hearing rumors.  He'd learned in the past that it was usually wise to keep track of what Dr. McCoy was doing, so investigating the rumors was a perfectly logical thing to do.  Curiosity had _nothing_ to do with it.

Spock entered Sickbay.  McCoy was across the room, putting some beakers away.

"Hello, Spock.  What do you need?" McCoy asked.

"I do not need anything.  I am simply investigating rumors I heard regarding a cat you took on board."

"Oh, right.  Are those rumors still flying?"

"Yes, as should be obvious since I have heard them."

"It was a rhetorical question.  Anyway, since Jim knows I guess there's no harm in telling you I've got a cat.  He's asleep on one of the biobeds."  At that moment the cat wandered into the room, and looked inquiringly at Spock.  "Correction: was asleep."

"Then the rumors are accurate.  Why did you feel compelled to bring a cat back to the _Enterprise_?"

"He's just such a cute little guy."

"Then it was not a logical decision?"

"I suppose not."  McCoy hid a smile and said casually, "Incidentally, I named him Surak."

Spock blinked.  "You named him…Surak?"

"Mm-hmm.  I thought it suited him."

"You named a cat after a great Vulcan philosopher because it suited him?"

"That's right."  McCoy was enjoying himself immensely.  "I already said so twice.  You feel all right, Spock?"

Spock blinked again.  "I am fine.  I am simply unable to account for why you would name a cat Surak."

"Oh well, I thought he looked like him," McCoy said, picking Surak up.

"How can a cat resemble an ancient Vulcan philosopher?"

McCoy shrugged.  "They've both got black hair and pointed ears.  What more do you need?  I almost named him Spock."

Spock blinked once again.  "May I ask why you did not name him Spock?"

"Why, Spock!  Are you hurt that I didn't name my cat after you?"

"Of course not," Spock said hastily.  "It is merely a matter of intellectual curiosity."

"Right," McCoy agreed cheerfully.  "I thought about it for a while and decided it might not be a good idea to name him Spock.  I was thinking: what if he got out of Sickbay?  It wouldn't do much for my reputation if I had to go out in the hall and call Spock home for dinner.  Can you picture that?  There I'd be, standing in the corridor, shouting 'Here, Spock!  Dinner time!'"

Spock permitted himself a very faint smile.  "That would not have improved either of our reputations aboard this ship," he agreed.

*  *  *

Ensign Jones had been hearing rumors.  As a matter of self-preservation, he usually found it a good idea to check out any rumors.  No telling what might be at the base of them.  And you really couldn't be too careful.

So he wandered down to Sickbay.

McCoy noticed him standing nervously by the door.  "Ah, Ensign…Jones, was it?"

"Right, Jones.  Um.  I heard you had a cat…"

McCoy nodded.  "Sure, I've got a cat.  Want to meet him?"

"That's okay…"

"No trouble.  Hey Surak!  Get out here!"

After a long moment, the black cat wandered disdainfully into the room.

Jones jumped.  "A cat.  You really have got one."

"Right.  Here, he'll let you pet him—"

"No.  No, that's all right.  Cats have claws.  And teeth.  And claws.  And…and I just remembered something I have to do.  Just passing through anyway see you later bye."  Jones fled.

McCoy watched him go with a puzzled expression.  He shook his head.  "I really must look into that boy's psych file."

So that makes ten chapters.  Hooray for me!  And hooray for you guys for continuing to review!

Now that I've reached the big 1-0, this story's going to undergo a slight change in premise.  Well, sort of a major change.  Except for Chapters 7 and 9, each chapter has been a series of scenes, each featuring one character, and how they react.  Well, that's fun, and it was the original point, but it's also rather limiting.  The point is, starting next chapter, they're going to be reacting more often as a group.  And actually there'll probably be less reacting and more barely controlled silliness.  The reason I'm doing this is because it let's me use lots more plots, including complicated ones!  And there'll still be _some_ chapters of reacting.  So this should be interesting.  ^_^  (I could, of course, start another story for non-reacting incidents, but where's the fun in that?)

Next chapter up tomorrow: "Fanfiction.net."


	11. Fanfictionnet

Hooray, I got this posted!

Disclaimer: Don't own Star Trek, etc. etc. etc…  I have permission to use other stories though!

Elf/Vampire/Vulcan/Jedi/Saiyan: Running joke with your friends?  Cool!  My friends and I are quite fond of "Let the Katra flow…"  About the speech…well, check out the end of Mask of Stella.  Beyond that I haven't figured out yet.  (What does LMAO mean?)

EmpressLeia: Me? Arrogant?  Certainly not!  Demanding about people posting, much too fond of flattering reviews…but arrogant?  Never!  Kidding, only kidding…but I'm not arrogant…I think.

Other reviewers: Just keep reviewing!  I love 'em!

A/N: In this chapter, our dear characters get on Fanfiction and start reading.  Brief piece on stories they look at:

"The Enterprise Goes to Medora" by EmpressLeia.  Very strange and very funny.  And they DO get chased by mad deer…

"Home For Christmas" by Charmega.  Very sad little fic about Kirk's death from McCoy's point of view.

"A Stitch in Time" by Ensign Expendable.  Sorta hard to summarize since I still can't predict what'll happen…quite funny in spots, quite grim in others.  And Kirk and Spock apparently get killed in a nuclear explosion.

"The Europa Incident" by Elf/Vampire/Vulcan/Jedi/Saiyan.  Also a complicated story.  T'Kaia is a Vulcan who turns up on the _Enterprise_ with her pet cat.  They're trying to deal with an apparently evil captain named Ghol who's actually being controlled by a Creature.

"Mask of Stella" by me.  Can't summarize as there is no plot.  It's strange.

"How Would They React…?" by me.  Well, duh.

If you haven't read them I highly recommend!  (and read "Forgiven" by Keridwen while you're at it, even though the cliffhanger's killing me)  And I'm sure they'd all want me to tell you to review.  : )   No idea why you should listen to me of course…  ^_^

Just in case this gets a little confusing, the idea is only the events from the actual show and in this story have happened.  Or at least, only those have happened to _this_ Kirk, Spock, and McCoy, as opposed to the Kirk, Spock, and McCoy in other stories, but these particular ones…I need to stop, I'm only confusing myself.

_Finally_, the story (thanks to Elf/Vampire/Vulcan/Jedi/Saiyan for the suggestion!):

Part Eleven:

Fanfiction.net

_Still en route to the planet they intend to study, various crewmembers are finding rather…unique ways to pass the time:_

McCoy was sitting at one of the library consoles on the bridge, reading something on the screen.  After a moment he turned towards the rest of the bridge.

"Hey Spock, Jim, you've got to come see this!  I've been surfing the net and I found a fascinating website!" McCoy blinked.  "Uhhh…I mean, interesting."

Spock was standing by Kirk's command chair, where Kirk was sitting.  They broke off their conversation and came over to join McCoy.  Spock seemed somewhat puzzled.

"Doctor, am I correct in thinking you stated that you were 'surfing the net?'"

"Yeah, that's right," McCoy said casually.

"Surfing is, by nature, a physical sport involving water.  How can it be performed while at a computer console?  Also, I do not see evidence of any nets."

McCoy shook his head.  "Spock, Spock, Spock," he said in mock despair.

"Doctor, Doctor, Doctor," Spock deadpanned.

McCoy blinked, and decided it would be simplest to just explain.  "It's an archaic Earth term.  It means going from site to site on the internet."

"Why do you not simply say that to begin with, and prevent confusion?"

"Because humans are wacko, Spock," McCoy said sarcastically.  "Completely devoid of logic!  Utterly irrational!  Totally insane!"

"I have long suspected as much," Spock said calmly.

McCoy groaned.  Kirk judged this would be good time to step in, before things got totally out of hand.

"Anyway, you said you were going to show us something, Bones?"

"Oh, right.  See, I found this website called 'Fanfiction.net.'  And get this: people write stories on it about us."

"About us?" Kirk said.

"Well, there are _some_ stories about other people," McCoy said dismissively.  "The best stories are about us though."

"I think I'd like to see some of those," Kirk said with interest.  Even Spock seemed intrigued by the idea.

McCoy clicked and brought up a page of story titles.  Kirk pointed to one near the top.  "What's that one about?" he asked.

"'The _Enterprise_ Goes to Medora,'" McCoy read.  "I don't know, let's read it."

They clicked into the story and started reading.  Kirk was immediately pleased.

"I'm making a log entry!  I _like_ that.  And for some reason it reminds me of risks.  And risks are our business!    When man first looked at the stars—"

At the helm, Sulu got a strange look in his eye.  He pulled a sword out from under his chair, leaped to the upper ramp, let out a yell, and brought the sword down on one of the consoles with a crash.

"Sulu!  What are you doing?!" Kirk exclaimed.

"I'm not exactly sure," Sulu said uncertainly.

"Have you gone mad?!"

"I don't know…"

"Well, go down to Sickbay, find Dr. McCoy, and have him give you a neural scan," Kirk ordered.

McCoy tapped Kirk on the shoulder.  "Uh, Jim…"

Kirk looked at McCoy.  "Oh.  Right.  I knew that.  Mr. Sulu, go down to Sickbay and give yourself a neural scan."

Sulu frowned.  "I don't know how."

"Oh. Could you fake it?"

Sulu shrugged.  "I guess so."

"Fine.  Go down to Sickbay and pretend to give yourself a neural scan.  We'll continue reading."

Sulu exited, and Kirk Spock and McCoy read further into 'The Enterprise goes to Medora.'  They finished chapter one and moved to the second chapter.  By now, Kirk and McCoy were just about out of breath from laughing.  Spock remained impassive.  

"Oh my!  _Ohh_ my!  Can't…breath," McCoy gasped through laughter.  "We're being chased…by mad deer!"

"Mad deer!  F-funny!" Kirk said, trying to regain control.  "Not like that could actually happen though…"

There was a thundering noise from Stage Left.  Ensign Jones came dashing onto the bridge.  "Mad deer!  Mad deer!" Jones shrieked, and fled frantically off Stage Right.  A galloping deer chased after him.

Kirk, Spock, and McCoy looked at each other.  With one accord they turned back to the computer screen.

"Let's read another one," McCoy suggested.

"It could be interesting," Spock commented.

McCoy clicked on another story title.  "Let's see what this one is about."  The one in question was titled "Home For Christmas."

*  *  *

They read to the end of "Home For Christmas."  

McCoy sniffed.  "That's…that's so _sad_," he said, rather choked up.

"You're telling me!" Kirk sobbed, wiping at his eyes with the cuff of his sleeve.  "That's the _saddest_ thing…"

If Spock was moved by the story, he very carefully hid it.  His only comment was a slightly surprised "This story depicts me crying."

"You mean you wouldn't be upset if I died?  Why, Spock…"  Kirk broke into a fresh wave of sobs.

Spock wisely decided that there was only one option that would preserve both dignity and friendship.  He said nothing.

McCoy patted Kirk on the shoulder.  "It's okay, Jim.  You've got to pull yourself together."

"It's just so _moving_…"

"I know.  It's not every day a person reads about his own funeral.  Just remember, this is fiction.  Not the real world."

"Right…I'll keep that in mind," Kirk said, beginning to regain control.

McCoy eyed the computer screen.  "I'm not sure we should read anymore…"

"Well…it may be risky," Kirk said, just about back to normal, "but risks are our business.  When man first looked at the stars—"

"What say we read this one?" McCoy said hastily, clicking at random.  He landed on a story called "A Stitch in Time."  Under the circumstances, it wasn't the best story to pick.  It was an excellent story, but if he was trying to cheer Kirk up…

*  *  *

They read up to the end of chapter three.  The first two chapters were funny in spots, even though in chapter two they beam into a war zone.  Then they continued to chapter three, and things got more serious.

"I got killed.  And Spock got killed," Kirk said mechanically.  "That's so _saaaad_!"

"That is…pretty sad," McCoy said, just a bit choked up.  "And there's no sign of chapter four…"

"It is indeed a tragic loss of life," Spock said.

"I know!  We get killed!" Kirk wailed.

"Actually, I was referring to the countless loss of native life on the northern continent."

"Who cares about the natives?!  _We_ got killed!  _Again_!"  Kirk started sobbing. Again.

"Jim, you've got to stop doing this," McCoy said patiently.

"But I keep dying!  I don't think these people like me!  They keep killing me!  And it's saaaad!"

McCoy sighed.  "Yes, Jim.  What say we look at the reviews?"

"I guess…"

McCoy brought up the review page.  "Well, lots of reviews from someone named Tavia."

"What's this about a bridge?  I get killed under a _bridge_?"  Kirk said, reading.  "Oh NO!  What a way to go!"

"Jim, _calm yourself_!" McCoy snapped.  "Get a grip or we stop reading!"

"All right, all right.  I'm okay.  I'm calm.  I'm fine," Kirk jabbered.

"Sure," McCoy said.  "Let's read 'The Europa Incident.'  Used to be called 'Of Lost Ships and Old Friends.'  Sounds philosophical."  

*  *  *

It wasn't philosophical.  It was good though.  McCoy was still chuckling, Kirk was ranting, and Spock was 'not amused.'

"A cat!  T'Kaia has a cat!  Named…_Spock_!  Oh, goodness…"  McCoy went off on another stretch of laughter.

"I do not see why you find this so amusing," Spock said with dignity.  "A cat named Spock is not amusing."

"But it _is_, Spock, it _is_!" McCoy protested.  "And now you don't have to feel badly that I didn't name _my_ cat Spock."

Spock started.  "I do not feel…you are deliberately baiting me, Doctor."

"Yeah, I guess so."  McCoy shook his head.  "A cat named Spock…she must feel sorta silly when she calls him home for dinner…"  He started chuckling again.

Kirk, as previously stated, was ranting.  He did find the fact of a cat named Spock rather funny, but he was also disturbed by the rest of the following chapters.  "Why isn't anyone doing something about this Creature?  Now, if it was me—"

"It _is_ you, Jim," McCoy pointed out.

"Well, yeah, but it's not…well it is…but it's…"  He glared at McCoy.  "Don't confuse me!"

McCoy shrugged.  "Sorry."

"Anyway, there's got to be something he—I—_whatever_, can do about the Creature.  Even if it's risky.  Because risks are our business!  When man first looked at the stars—"

"Perhaps we should read another story," Spock suggested.

"Want to try this one?  It's called 'The Mask of Stella,'" McCoy said.

"Can't hurt," Kirk said.

*  *  *

"I take it back.  It hurt," Kirk said bleakly.

"No, it was a swell idea!  This is _hilarious_!" McCoy said, laughing uproariously.  [A/N: The author does NOT have an ego.]

They were reading "The Mask of Stella."

"This story depicts me fleeing Stella!" Kirk complained.

"I know!" McCoy chortled.

"This isn't funny!"

"Yes, it _is_!"

"Aren't you at all bothered that you're running around bald?" Kirk asked, annoyed.

"Oh, a little.  But I'm about the only person who doesn't go totally crazy.  And I get to help save the ship.  So it evens out.  And the scenes with you are so funny!  And everyone else gets drunk.  Even Spock!"

"Chicken noodle soup is not known to intoxicate Vulcans," Spock said with dignity.  

"If I thought it did I'd be in the Mess Hall right now!"

"Stella!  Bah," Kirk muttered.  "Like I'd run from some woman…"

"Let's find something else by this author," McCoy suggested.

"_Must_ we?" Kirk asked.

"Yes, we must."

They eventually located a story at the top of Page 1 titled "How Would They React…?"  They clicked into it, and were almost immediately puzzled.

"Didn't we have a Klingon on board a couple weeks ago?" McCoy said, frowning at the first chapter.

"Yeah, he's still in the brig," Kirk said.

"Coincidence, I guess."

They continued reading.

"Okay, it can't be a coincidence that it depicts us getting lost on Mycelia V," McCoy said, looking at chapter two.

"It could be, but the odds are astronomical," Spock commented.

"This is sort of weird.  Should we keep reading?" Kirk asked.

"Yes, we should," McCoy said firmly.  "The curiosity would kill me if we don't."

*  *  *

They finally read up to chapter eleven, and found details on the events of the last half hour.

"'And so they read through chapter eleven,'" McCoy read out loud, "'eventually catching up to the moment they were at.  And it was at that point that our dear author looked back on the chapter and realized there could be no snappy ending.  To have an ending one must have a plot, and there was certainly no plot.  Simply a series of scenes as the characters read story after story.  And, of course, reacted.  She finally concluded the best thing to do would be to just stop typing.  So she did.'"

Hope you liked!

Dreadful, dreadful news.  Well, **I** think it's dreadful.  Point is, I'm going on vacation tomorrow (that's not the dreadful part).  And no computer access.  (_That's_ the dreadful part.)  That means, of course, no new chapters for a week.  (I'm sure you'll all survive **somehow**…)  A week isn't that long, I know, but I've been posting every couple days, so I figured I'd explain ahead of time rather than apologize afterwards.

So, I'll miss you guys.  While I'm gone, here's something to think about:  Spock and McCoy.  In a stalled turbolift.  Together.  With Ensign Jones.

See ya in a week!  ^_^

And review, of course!  If you don't review I'll…I'll…I'll send Ensign Jones after you!  No, wait, that would be more hazardous for him than you…review anyway!


	12. Enclosed Encounters

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek, if I had a buck for every time I wrote that I could _buy_ Star Trek…well, no, probably not.  But I could definitely afford tickets to see "Nemesis!"

Everyone in general: So glad you liked seeing our dear characters get online.  They may do that again eventually, though not for a few chapters at least…if they do, we can be sure Kirk will have further fits about his death.  ^_^   heehee

I'm beginning to think these stories are becoming dangerous…between falling out of chairs, rolling around on the floor, laughing heads off, choking laughing, hurting something laughing…you guys be careful out there!  Seatbelts might be an excellent idea…

Meredith: It would be interesting to hear the Random Guy's name…an ancient spirit baked a cake?  Oookay…  Flooding the Mess Hall with orange juice.  Hmm.

Elf/VampireVulcan/Jedi/Saiyan: This may become complicated, so bear with me…I've got two Star Trek series I'm writing here: How Would They React and Stella, Chicken Noodle Soup, etc.  React is closer to being serious (closer, though not actually serious, obviously) and within this story chicken noodle soup does not intoxicate Vulcans.  In my other stories…it most definitely does!  Does this make sense?  Probably not.  But hey, where's the fun in being rational?

Stargazer: Aren't we all devoid of ego…(except Kirk)?

At last, Chapter twelve (thanks for the suggestion Meredith!).  So…how _would_ they react to getting stranded in a turbolift?

Part 12:

Enclosed Encounters

_Still en route to that same planet: _

McCoy stepped onto the turbolift.  "Bridge," he ordered.  For a doctor, he spent a lot of time on the bridge.  This particular time, he had a legitimate medical reason for going to the bridge.  Kirk had been avoiding his annual medical check-up for two weeks, and had completed ignored the twelve memos from the medical staff telling him that fact.  When Kirk finally wound up on the Captain's disciplinary list for failure to appear, McCoy decided it was time he took this into his own hands.  So he was going to the bridge, to inform Kirk personally that he had just better get himself down to Sickbay today, or _else_.

The turbolift slowed and stopped too soon for it to be the bridge.  The doors opened on another corridor, identical to the last corridor, except this one had Spock in it.

Spock nodded to McCoy.  "Doctor McCoy.  Is this turbolift going to the bridge?"

"It was until it stopped here."

"Good." Spock stepped onto the turbolift, which resumed its journey.

"So how've you been lately, Spock?" McCoy asked pleasantly.

"You last spoke to me yesterday afternoon.  It is very unlikely there have been any substantial changes since then."

McCoy rolled his eyes, and hid a smile.

The turbolift slowed and stopped again, opening on yet another non-descript corridor.  This one had Ensign Jones in it.  He peered into the turbolift.

"Um, are you going to the bridge?" he asked.

McCoy nodded.  "That we are.  If we ever stop picking up passengers, that is."

"Oh."  Jones stepped into the turbolift, the doors shut, and it once more resumed its journey.

"Have you been feeling better since that incident with the mad deer, Ensign?" McCoy asked.

Jones blushed furiously.  "I'm fine, Doctor.  Just fine."

Any reply from McCoy was drowned out by a sudden grinding noise from the turbolift.  It was just the sort of sound you don't want to hear in an elevator.  It went on for half a minute, then the turbolift stopped abruptly.  So abruptly the passengers nearly fell.  They waited for the turbolift doors to open.  They didn't.

"Computer, open the turbolift doors," Spock commanded calmly.

The doors squeaked open a fraction of an inch, then slammed shut again.

"Computer, open the doors," Spock said again.

This time nothing happened.  Nothing at all.  McCoy was starting to feel apprehensive.  Jones was well into full-fledged worry.

"The turbolift stalled, didn't it?  We're trapped here, aren't we?" Jones said nervously.

"It does look that way," Spock acknowledged.

*  *  *

In engineering, a light on one panel flashed on, demanding attention.  "Och, now what?" Scotty muttered.  He walked over to the panel, and did some checking.  After a few minutes he stepped over to the comm unit and called the Captain.

*  *  *

Kirk answered the call on the bridge.  "Kirk here.  What do you need, Scotty?"

The chief engineer's voice came over the comm unit.  "I can't say that I need anythin', but we do have a wee bit of trouble I thought ye ought to know of."

"All right.  So what's the problem?"

"Oh, nothing major, mind you.  Just a stalled turbolift.  It's stuck fast between Decks 3 and 4."

"Oh, is that all?  I thought maybe the engine was going to go."  Compared to some 'slight problems' Scotty had called him about in the past, a stalled turbolift didn't seem much cause for concern.

"Well, it has got three passengers who are stuck along with it."

Slight cause for concern.  "You _can_ get them out, can't you?"

"Oh, aye.  But I'm afraid the turbolift is a hopeless wreck at the moment.  Could be days to get it fixed.  But we're goin' to work on cuttin' the door and get the people out afore we get to work on fixin' the turbolift."

"Fine.  How long do you think it'll take to cut through the door?"

"Could be a good twelve hours, I'm afeared.  Them's solid doors."

Twelve hours: slightly greater cause for concern.  "Well, can't you use tools with higher power, to cut faster?"

"Well…I could."

Kirk smiled.  "And why shouldn't you?"

"If you use too high a power, it gets tricky to guarantee the safety of what's on the other side of the door, if you catch my drift."

He did.  "Twelve hours it is then.  Oh…can computer sensors tell you who's trapped in the turbolift?"

"Aye, that they can.  Three people: Ensign Jones, Mr. Spock, and Dr. McCoy."

Kirk blinked.  "Spock…and McCoy?" he echoed.  "Both of them?"

"Aye, that's what I said."

Kirk sighed.  Spock and McCoy, trapped in a turbolift—_together_—for twelve hours.  _Major_ cause for concern.

*  *  *

Captain's Log, Supplemental:

We've run into a bit of trouble.  For the ship on a whole, this particular problem is trivial.  Inconsequential.  Easily dismissed.  On a personal level…this could be very, very serious.

We have had a malfunction in the turbolifts, causing a turbolift to stall between decks.  There are three people trapped: Ensign Jones, Mr. Spock, and Dr. McCoy.  Spock and Bones are really very fond of each other.  Neither is likely to admit that in the foreseeable future.  They antagonize each other a great deal, and while it _is_ friendly…  What may occur if they are trapped in an enclosed space for an extended length of time is not something I'd like to consider.  And Mr. Scott suggests it could be twelve hours before we can get them out.

I only hope everyone is still alive when we get the door open.

*  *  *

Thirty minutes:

The trio, concluding they were going to be stuck in the turbolift for some time, had decided it might be best to sit down.  There was just about enough space for them each to sit without bumping knees with the person next to them.  Just barely enough space.  Jones was decidedly worried, while Spock and McCoy stayed calm.

After a short time, McCoy became aware of a noise on the other side of the turbolift doors.  "Hey, does anybody hear something?"

Spock, with his Vulcan ears, had been listening carefully for several minutes.  "I believe it is Mr. Scott with a repair team.  Logically, that is the most likely source of noise."

"Well, maybe we'll get out of here reasonably soon then," McCoy said hopefully.

"Unlikely.  If what I believe is wrong with the turbolift is correct, they will have to cut the door, which could take ten hours or more."

"Thanks, Spock, I really needed to know all that," McCoy said sarcastically.

"Ten hours…ohhh."  Jones moaned at the very thought.

"Or more," Spock said calmly.

"You're not helping," McCoy said with annoyance.

"I was merely clarifying."

McCoy groaned.  "Ten hours of this…"

"Do you think there's any way to tell 'em to hurry up?" Jones asked.

"I don't know.  Would they hear us if we shouted?" McCoy said.

"It is not likely.  However…" Spock stood up, stepped over Jones' leg, and stood next to the door.  Then he began to rhythmically pound it.

"And how is pounding the door going to help?" McCoy asked.

"Random pounding would be of little use to anyone.  However, if one knows how to communicate via Morse code—"

"He knows Morse code," McCoy said with some amazement.  "What's really astonishing is that this surprises me."

On the other side of the door, Scotty and his engineers were at first unsure what to make of the pounding, but after a few minutes of repetition someone worked out that it might be Morse code.  After that it took a few minutes to locate another crewmember who knew Morse code (it _was_ rather outdated), but once they did it was simple to establish communications.  On the outside they learned that it was Spock, McCoy and Jones inside, and that all three were well enough.  On the inside they learned it was probably twelve hours before they'd get out.  Jones was somewhat upset.

*  *  *

Hour Three:

So far, Spock and McCoy were still feeling all right, despite the tiny space.  The confinement was taking its toll on Jones though.  He'd become increasingly agitated during the last few hours, despite McCoy's attempts to calm him.  Finally, as they reached the three-hour mark, he snapped.

"I can't take it anymore!" Jones shouted suddenly, leaping to his feet.

"Take a deep breath," McCoy urged him, wishing he had a sedative on hand.

"No!  No, I've had it!  Had it, I tell you!" he shrieked.  "I can't stand the confinement!  The inactivity!  I just can't handle it!"

Before either Spock or McCoy could prevent him, Jones charged at the turbolift doors with a bellow.  His head banged against the doors, he moaned, and slumped to the floor unconscious.

"Crazy kid," McCoy grumbled, leaning over him.  "Lucky though.  Looks like a fairly mild head injury.  He'll be out cold for several hours, I think, but it's nothing I can't patch up when we get back to Sickbay.  Speaking of which, I have got to look into his psych file."

*  *  *

Hour Six:

Boredom was setting in.  For McCoy anyway.  Spock, on the other hand, was mentally calculating the current gravitational pull on the _Enterprise_ from the nearby stars and planets.  Jones was still unconscious, in a sitting position against one wall.

"So why were you going to the bridge?" McCoy asked, taking a stab at conversation.

Spock broke off his calculations.  "My shift was beginning.  Unfortunately, it seems likely my shift will end before we exit this turbolift."

"Oh."

Silence descended again for a few moments.

"Well aren't you going to ask me why I was going to the bridge?"

Spock once again stopped his calculations.  "I had not been planning to."

"Why not?  Aren't you at all curious?"

Spock sighed inwardly.  "No, I am not curious.  I calculate a 96.7 percent chance you were going to the bridge to talk with the Captain."

McCoy shrugged.  "You got it in one.  Want to guess what I was going to talk to Jim about?"

"Not especially."

"Aw, come on.  Guess."

Spock considered.  Experience had taught him that sometimes the wisest thing to do was whatever Dr. McCoy wanted him to do, as it was often the only way to satisfy him.  And he usually wound up doing so eventually, so logically it was best to simply acquiesce.  He thought about it.  "Were you going to inform the Captain he has not yet had his yearly medical examination?"

McCoy blinked.  "Who told you?"

"No one told me anything.  I am simply aware that often senior officers take yearly exams at the same time of year.  I had mine two weeks ago.  I am also aware that the Captain avoids medical exams whenever possible.  Therefore, I calculated a 72.3 percent chance that that is the matter you wished to address with the Captain."

McCoy shook his head.  "Spock, what are you, a man or a computer?"

"That question is not logical."

"That's what _you_ think!"

"Yes.  If it was not what I thought I would not have said it."

McCoy groaned.  "Oh forget it."

"It is not likely I will 'forget it' but I will cease discussing it."

"Thank you ever so," McCoy said sarcastically.

Spock resumed his calculations.  McCoy went back to staring at the walls.

*  *  *

Hour Seven:

McCoy was tired of staring at the walls.  He suspected he would remember the exact shade of this particular turbolift for the rest of his life, if he lived to be a hundred and forty.  Spock, meanwhile, had completed his calculations regarding gravitational pull, and had begun calculating the—

"Can we _please_ talk about _something_?" McCoy said, interrupting Spock's calculating again.

"Why?"

"Because I am bored out of my mind!"

Spock nodded knowingly.  "Ah.  Boredom.  A common ailment among humans I believe."

"And I suppose Vulcans never get bored?"

Spock considered his answer carefully.  "It is not unheard of, but highly rare."

"And you, of course, are _never_ bored?"

"Never."

"Suuure."

Spock raised one eyebrow.  "Do you doubt me, Doctor?"

McCoy just shrugged.  "So Vulcans are never bored, eh?"

"Very rarely.  I understand it is a frequent occurrence among humans.  A defect of the species."  Was Spock deliberately baiting McCoy with that line?  Well…

Either way it did.  Bait him, that is.  "A—a _defect_ of the _species_?!" McCoy spluttered.

"Even you must admit it is not a positive attribute," Spock observed.

McCoy opened his mouth, then shut it again.  Spock had him there.  Boredom was something of a defect when you thought about it.  Not that he was about to admit anything of the kind.  "So what do the _brilliant_ Vulcans do to prevent boredom?" he asked sarcastically. 

"It takes only a minor amount of mental discipline to divert one's mental workings upon interesting tracts and occupy the mind.  Perhaps eventually humans will learn to do similar."

McCoy glared at him.  "And what oh-so-fascinating tract was your mental workings concentrating on?"

"Until you interrupted me, I was calculating the density of the stellar core of the nearest star system, as I have completed my calculations regarding gravitational pull from nearby systems."

McCoy groaned.  "Oh that _does_ it!"

"I fail to see how it does anything."

"You would," McCoy said sourly.

"You are not making sense, Doctor."

"No, I suppose not."

"Do you not think it would be wise to rectify that problem?"

"No, I do not think it would be wise."

"That is not logical."

"'Not logical,' he says," McCoy told the turbolift in general.  "Of the 430 crewmembers on this ship, I get stuck in a turbolift with _you_!"

Spock did not seem offended.  "Four-hundred thirty six."

"What?"

"There are four-hundred thirty six crewmembers currently aboard the _Enterprise_.  Therefore there are four-hundred thirty five crewmembers you could have been trapped in a turbolift with, four-hundred thirty four discounting myself."

"I. Don't. _Care_!"

"Then I suggest you should not have brought the matter up to begin with."

McCoy moaned, pretty much at the end of his patience levels, which were never very high to begin with.

"Doctor, you seem somewhat irritated."

"Of course I'm irritated!  I'm hungry, I'm bored, I've been trapped in two square feet of space—"

"Actually, closer to—"

"I don't care how many square inches of space there is in here!"

"I was not going to give you the square inch size of the turbolift."

"Good!"

"It is generally preferable to use the metric system.  In centimeters, there are—"

McCoy snapped.  "All right, put 'em up!" he barked, getting to his feet. 

Spock looked at him with some amazement, then slowly stood up.  "Doctor, are you attempting to engage me in a fight?"

"I most definitely am!"

"That is not wise, not wise at all."

"I'd say what's your point, but I can see 'em!"

"I think you may be past reasoning with."

"Most likely!"

"In that case, you leave me little choice." 

In the turbolift, they were easily within arm's length of each other.  It was simple for Spock to reach out and nerve pinch McCoy, who slumped to the floor unconscious.

Spock looked down at him.  "I am sorry that was necessary."  Spock then seated himself against a wall, and chose to immerse himself in meditation.

*  *  *

Hour Eight:

Little change within the turbolift.  McCoy and Jones were both still unconscious.  Spock was deep in meditation.

Outside, significant progress had been made.  So much so that Scotty called Kirk.

"Captain, I believe we ought ta be through the turbolift doors in another five minutes," Scotty said into the comm unit, in the hall outside the turbolift.

On the bridge, Kirk was surprised.  "Really?  I thought it was supposed to be another four hours."

"Ah, well…we went a wee bit faster then expected."

"However you did it, you're a miracle worker."

"Why thank ye, Captain.  Do ye want to be comin' down for when we open her up?"

Kirk thought about it.  There wasn't really any reason for him to be there.  But on the other hand, this _was_ Spock and McCoy, after they'd been stuck with each other for eight hours…  "I'll be right down."

*  *  *

They got the doors open shortly after Kirk arrived, and found all the occupants apparently unconscious.  Kirk was decidedly taken aback.  He'd made the joke about everyone still being alive, but maybe he should have said it seriously…  Fortunately for everyone in general, Spock came out of his meditation just moments after the door opened.  He stood up and greeted the stunned group on the other side.

"Hello.  I see the work was completed four hours ahead of predicted.  Most commendable," Spock said calmly.

"Spock…what happened?" Kirk managed.

"I assume you are referring to Ensign Jones and Doctor McCoy."

Kirk nodded mutely.

"Ensign Jones became a bit distressed at the confinement.  Dr. McCoy became somewhat irritated.  They both should be waking up within the hour.  Speaking of the hour, I believe my shift has ended.  If I am not needed on the bridge, may I return to my quarters to continue meditating?"

"Uh…sure," Kirk said, not finding Spock's simple explanation of things much of an explanation.

"Thank you.  Also, Dr. McCoy wanted to inform you that you have been delaying your annual medical exam for the last two weeks.  It would be wise to take the exam before he wakes up."

"Right..."

Spock nodded, and headed down the corridor.  Kirk looked from Spock's retreating form to the unconscious bodies in the turbolift.  He wondered if he really wanted a more complete explanation, and decided it was just possible he didn't…

They WILL get to the primitive planet next chapter.  What's on it?  Well…let's say I was definitely inspired by my vacation…the plane ride, actually…

Review, of course!  Or I'll strand you in a turbolift with Spock!  Wait, some of you might like that… 


	13. Into an Airport

Disclaimer: Why is this necessary?  See, I've been thinking…even if Berman _was_ going to show up on my door, how would he know which door to go to?  I mean, how many fifteen-year-old girls _are_ there in California?  And if _he_ can't find me, how's the copyright people gonna find me?  Let's be rational here…oh wait, who wants to be rational?  

I don't own Star Trek.

Stargazer: So glad you like the title, I thought it was rather clever myself.  (no ego here)  About the turbolift…slight confession.  I don't actually have the power to stick you in a turbolift with Spock.  I mean really, if I could get anybody into one of the _Enterprise_'s turbolifts, with or without Spock, do you think I'd still be at this computer?  Nope!

EmpressLeia: Ditto!  Sorry about the turbolift.  That _would_ have been a good line.  Now why didn't _I_ think of that?

Meredith: Have you noticed how random you're getting in your reviews?  I worry about you…j/k.  The karaoke night would go nicely with the meeting the old friend in a bar…must consider all this carefully.   And sure you serve a purpose…you write amusing reviews!

Saphrie: Oh dear.  I've hooked another one.  Do try to maintain some semblance of sanity, unlike the rest of us, including and mostly myself.  And I always pay attention to ramblings!  Ramblings are fun!  Do you think I'd be responding to Meredith otherwise…kidding, only kidding.  Not a bad idea, meeting themselves.  Must consider that too.

Happy birthday to Gene Roddenberry!  (August nineteenth)  If not for him I never would've gotten hooked on Star Trek to begin with.  (I'm _not_ obsessed…)

As this is fiction, any resemblance to people living or dead is a complete coincidence.  Any resemblance to the airport in my town is completely deliberate, as they are kind enough to warn you about stepping forward at the top of the escalators, and maintaining control of your baggage.

So…how would our gallant captain and his comrades react to the airport?  It's not pretty.  Funny, I hope, but not pretty.

Part Thirteen:

Into an Airport

_The Enterprise has at last reached that "primitive" planet they've been traveling to.  Its name is Borelia II:_

"Captain, we have arrived," Spock informed Kirk.

"Great.  We can get on with this oh-_so_ exciting mission," Kirk said.  He was anticipating boredom.  Checking out a planet just like Earth a couple centuries ago was not his idea of a vital mission.  "And what an exciting mission it will be!  Studying the travel capabilities of the natives.  I was just looking into ancient travel possibilities yesterday," Kirk added sarcastically.

"I think it may be interesting to some degree," Spock said calmly.  "It could be a fascinating experience to take a standard trip aboard one of their airplanes."

"I'm glad _you_ feel that way," Kirk said sourly.

"We had best be beaming down shortly.  Starfleet obtained tickets already, and while it was planned we would arrive several days before our flight, our detour to the Guardian of Forever has left us little excess time."

"How much time have we got anyway?" Kirk asked idly, wondering how long he could delay the start of this mission.

"Three-point-two hours."

Okay, delay was pretty much out of the question.  Kirk stood up.  "Let's go then.  Might as well get it over with.  How many tickets have we got?"

"Four."

"Fine.  You, me, Bones, and…well, we'll snag a security guard for the fourth seat."

*  *  *

An hour later, they were nearly ready to go.  Fortunately, Borelians looked just exactly like humans.  (So many species do.)  So the main thing was to outfit the party correctly, which was fairly simple.  Everyone had jeans and cotton shirts of various colors and patterns.  The security guard, Ensign Jones, had a particularly vivid scarlet shirt.

That left them one problem; actually two: Spock's ears.  They had to hide the points somehow, and the question was how.  First they tried a device called a "baseball cap."

"I don't know, Spock," McCoy said, studying the hat.  "I don't think it does anything for your profile."

Spock simply looked at him.  "The issue is not my profile but my ears, Doctor."

"It doesn't hide the ears either."

Next they considered a turban, which was fairly effective, but they were concerned it might stand out somewhat in the country they were going to.

"We need earmuffs," Kirk said.  "That would hide his ears."

"It's summer where we're going," McCoy pointed out.

"So what?  Maybe he has a head cold."

"Nah, what we want are headphones," McCoy said.

"Headphones?"

"Sure.  They work like earmuffs only they transmit music, so anybody can wear them any time."

"Sounds okay.  How do you know about this anyway, Bones?"

McCoy shrugged.  "I did some reading up on it yesterday.  Primitive cultures are sort of interesting in the abstract.  Now let's find some headphones…"

And so, when they went to the transporter room they were thoroughly outfitted in period clothes, were carrying several bags, and Spock was listening to rock music.

*  *  *

They beamed down outside the airport, and walked in with everyone else.  That's when they ran into their first piece of trouble.

"Excuse me!  Sir!" a porter called after them from a counter near the entrance.

The group looked at each other, shrugged, and walked back to the counter.  "Is there a problem?" Kirk asked.

"You can't take those two big bags onto the plane," the porter explained.

"Oh.  So…what do we do with them?" Kirk asked in genuine bewilderment.

The porter blinked.  How could anyone be so completely lacking in knowledge regarding plane flights?  "You check them at the counter," he said, slowly and carefully.

"Does everyone do that?"

"Yeah…"

"Okay, we'll do that then."

With careful, if nervous, directions from the porter, they successfully checked their two largest bags, opting to carry one smaller bag apiece, after ascertaining that "everyone" did that.

"Something strange about those people," the porter commented to a coworker as the people in question continued towards the escalators.

"Tourists," the other man said dismissively.

"That went well," Kirk commented to McCoy, who seemed less certain.

"We probably should have known about checking the bags," McCoy said worriedly.  "I missed that part reading."

"I'm sure it's fine.  Now, we're supposed to find are 'gate.'"

"I think gates are upstairs," McCoy said.  "The computer had a map of the airport.  Not a very good one, but I'm pretty sure gates are upstairs."

"So how do we get upstairs?"

"Presumably we find stairs, Jim," McCoy said dryly.

"No turbolifts?  These people _are_ backwards."

"Those look like stairs over there," Jones volunteered, pointing.

Approaching the stairs presented a bit of uncertainty though.

"Those things are moving!" Kirk said, surprised.

"I think they're supposed to do that," McCoy said uncertainly.

"Ohh.  So we just…step on?"

"I guess so."

Despite misgivings, Kirk managed to get on the escalator, followed by Spock, McCoy and Jones.  "This isn't so bad," Kirk said, riding upwards.  "One question though: How do we get off?"

He needn't have bothered asking.  A recorded voice over the speakers said pleasantly again and again: "At the top of the escalators, please step forward.  At the top of the escalators, please step forward.  At the top of the escalators…"

At the top of the escalators, Kirk stepped forward, and found himself on solid ground again.  Unfortunately, he didn't take into account the fact that three people were coming up behind him, and he stepped forward once.  Only once.

Spock, carried by momentum and the step he was on, crashed straight into Kirk.  McCoy tried to avoid doing similar by stepping backwards and bumped into Jones, whose balance was none too good under the best of circumstances, and who would have gone tumbling head over heels backwards down the escalator if McCoy hadn't grabbed his arm.  By the time McCoy and Jones straightened themselves out the escalator had carried them up to the top again, where Spock was just getting back to his feet.  McCoy collided into Spock, who tripped over Kirk.  Jones rammed into McCoy who'd managed to stay more or less upright, and sent him flying over Spock and Kirk both.  After that things became decidedly muddled, and somehow or other Jones managed to get to the bottom of a pile-up that would have done the NFL credit.

If more people had been coming up the escalator they may never have untangled themselves.  Fortunately, they were the only ones on the escalator at the time, and after some effort they managed to get back on their feet.

Overhead, the recorded message placidly continued, "At the top of the escalator, please step forward.  At the top of the escalator…"

"Dangerous contraption," Jones muttered, glaring at the escalators.

"Everyone all right?" Kirk asked.

"Nothing major, just a broken leg, thanks for asking," McCoy muttered.

"You okay, Spock?"

"Physically I am fine, Captain.  Unfortunately, I missed part of the song I was listening to."

Everyone being in basically good condition, they continued on into the airport.  Next they came to the metal detectors, which they passed through without mishap, thanks to a clever device of Scotty's.  The device prevented the metal detector from detecting their communicators, tricorders, phasers, universal translators, and, of course, the device itself.

The speakers were back in operation by the terminals, proclaiming the message, "Maintain control of your personal belongings at all times."  [A/N: Exact quote from my airport.  I started writing this while waiting for the plane.]

"Oh, right.  Like our baggage is going to get out of control," McCoy commented.

"I doubt they meant it quite that way," Kirk said, amused.

"You never can tell," Jones said grimly.

"We better locate our gate and find out when our plane's taking off," Kirk said briskly.

They set off to do so, no one taking particular care to control their bags.

Definitely not the end.  Only the beginning, actually.  Next chapter will be a bit…crazier.  Stay tuned!  And, of course, review!


	14. Baggage Run Amok

Disclaimer: Don't own Star Trek, like anyone in their right mind would think I did…though wouldn't it be funny if some Paramount executive guy came on the site?  He could put that he did own Star Trek and mean it…okay, no clue where these thoughts come from…

Stargazer: Yes, seatbelts _are_ a good idea.  Fell over and got stuck…must keep that in mind as something to happen to Jones…

Anna: Glad you've enjoyed.  No past reviews?  Sigh…oh well, s'all right.  Not a bad idea, have to think how that could be worked.

Meredith: You're right, that _was_ sane…relatively.  Dangerous cakes…heehee.  You ought to write these yourself, you know.

Keridwen: Yeah, Beethoven makes more sense…but again, who wants to be rational?  And anyway, somehow the image of Spock listening to rock music and liking it is strangely amusing…  The bottle song _would_ have been funny.  I definitely shoulda thought of that.  Oh goody, more chapters soon…I hope?  I'll manage with the cliffhanger.  Have to say for the third time: "the devil looks exactly like Spock" is waaaay too funny!  Heeheehee…

EmpressLeia: I'll read it relatively soon, I keep meaning to…[cringe] sorry.  Glad you liked the chapter.

The ultimate evil is happening Monday: school starts.  No, it's not really that bad.  But it's not good either and it definitely means less writing time, not that I expect sympathy from people in, say, New Zealand, who have _been_ in school, and probably a great many of you are starting also anyway.  Was there a point in all this?  Yeah, lost it a couple sentences ago…_anyway_, that's my explanation if I don't post as frequently.  [sob and wail] 

Finally, chapter fourteen.  Try to stay in your chair, and above all, don't think rationally.  You've been warned.

Part Fourteen:

Baggage Run Amok

_Still at the airport, on Borelia II:_

The group had successfully located their gate, and learned that their flight was a half-hour behind schedule.  Interestingly, none of the Borelians seemed to find that at all unusual.  They wandered through the terminals and found a slightly less crowded place to wait.  As they did all this, the speakers warned them several more times to "maintain control" of their baggage.

"That whole control things starting to bug me," McCoy said idly.  "What are they expecting to happen?"

Kirk shrugged.  "Primitive cultures.  Who knows?  What do you think, Spock?"

"Not now please, Captain.  There is a particularly fascinating piece with the guitars playing now," Spock said, putting a hand to his headphones.

Kirk and McCoy looked at each other.  A comment from McCoy, at least, would have been inevitable if not for the distraction from Jones.

"Um…m-my bag, it's…" Jones stammered, holding onto a suddenly twitching piece of luggage.

"Is it out of control?" McCoy asked, joking.

"Yes!" Jones said, serious and scared.  "It…it…"

With a sudden twist, the bag wrenched out of his grip and hovered in the air a foot from his head.  The others stared at it with quite a bit of consternation.  They were distracted even from that fascinating sight though, by movement from several other bags.  Soon a dozen or more were rocketing around the area, apparently on their own power.  The Borelians seemed acquainted with the phenomenon, and not overly fond of it.  With shrieks and curses they fled the area, leaving only the Starfleet officers to confront the rampaging bags.

Jones, for one, would have been more than happy to flee.  Unfortunately, when the bags first started moving he had backed up hastily and tripped over his own feet.  Now it was about all he could do to lie on his back and shield his head from the wildly flying bags.  The others had their own problems.  McCoy was being chased by a large pink flowered bag.  In desperation he finally dived under a row of seats.  While this solved the problem of the moment, it left him effectively trapped with baggage dive-bombing him whenever he tried to move.  Spock had another bag barreling down on him.  He stood his ground as it approached, but had to duck at the last minute.  After all, how does one nervepinch a suitcase?  Kirk had the most success, managing to wrestle a bag to the ground.  Once he had it down though, he realized he didn't know how to fight it.

Further detailed description becomes increasingly difficult as general havoc was loosed.  Jones managed to get to his feet, only to be chased, shrieking, in a circle by a duffel bag.  He finally was walloped in the head by a low-flying handbag.  McCoy was still trapped, purses dive-bombing him if he made an attempt to leave the row of seats.  Spock had to duck behind a potted fern to avoid a fast-moving briefcase.  Kirk very quickly decided he'd had enough of _this_.

Kirk rolled to avoid a particularly venomous suitcase, grabbed his phaser as he went, and came up firing at the berserking baggage.  It took a few minutes of wild firing, but when the smoke cleared there was silence…

"Nice, Jim," McCoy said, crawling out from under the chairs.  "_Blast_ at the baggage!"

Kirk shrugged.  "It worked.  And they're only stunned."

Stunned or otherwise, the bags were smoking, laying strewn around the area.

"And if there'd been any Borelians around we would have had a Prime Driective violation on our hands," McCoy pointed out.

"Well I didn't see _you_ doing anything," Kirk countered.

"I'm a doctor, not a security guard.  Speaking of which…"  McCoy turned towards Jones, who was just sitting up.

"Did anyone catch that shuttlecraft…?" Jones asked blearily, clutching his head.

McCoy checked him with a tricorder.  "You're all right, Ensign.  No serious damage, just a headache."

Jones started to shake his head, and stopped at the pain that caused.  "I don't think I'm gonna pull through, Doctor."

"It's just a headache."

"But what a headache!  Ohhh…" Jones moaned, hanging onto his head.

McCoy rooted through his medbag, which fortunately had remained basically under control.  He finally came up with some pills.  "Here, if it's that bad take one of these.  Ought to deaden the pain."

"Thanks," Jones said.

"You all right, Spock?" Kirk asked.

"Fine, thank you.  I did, however, miss another song."  Spock glanced around at the wreckage as he adjusted his headphones.  "As there is phaser-inflicted damage, it would be wise to leave the scene immediately, to avoid suspicion falling on us.  It is the logical thing to do."

"Logic or not, let's get out of here," McCoy advised.

"All right, let's go."

The airport security guards arrived a few minutes after the Starfleet crew had left, and surveyed the damage.

One guard shook his head in frustration.  "Look at this!  We tell them and tell them: _maintain control_!  But _do_ they listen?!"

Does anyone really need a scientific explanation?  (I _warned_ you about thinking rationally)  Well, just in case, I do have one…on Borelia they have these creatures who are regarded similar to the way we look at rats.  Nasty little reptiles with wings, they hang around under buildings, in the sewer system, etc.  Also at airports.  They have a fondness for crawling into small dark places, such as luggage, and if you don't keep close control over your bags, well…havoc.

The actual explanation?  It was too funny a scene for me to pass up just because it was irrational.

Review, of course!

Next chapter: They actually get on the airplane!


	15. Onto an Airplane

Disclaimer: Don't own Star Trek.  I'm just engaged in stealing it for my own purposes.

Meredith: Well, yeah, it could be worse.  But it could be better.  Anyway, just trying to explain why chapters may not be as frequent.  And I'm sorry, I don't actually _know_ what songs Spock is listening to.  He guards the CD player pretty jealously.  Spock singing along would be funny.  Couldn't quite make it fit though…too bad.

EmpressLeia: Thanks for the "Are we there yet?" suggestion!  As you will see, that _did_ manage to fit in!  

Ruanek: Thanks, I intend to!  (Keep it up, I mean.)  Glad you enjoyed.

Keridwen: Always nice to be of service.  Although you know, I'm a writer not a doctor.  (couldn't resist ^_^)  I _will_ accept payment in chapters, sounds like a good deal!

Finally, the plane ride.  I refuse to be held responsible if anyone dies laughing.  Try not to do that, people, okay?

Part Fifteen:

Onto an Airplane

An hour or so later (the flight was delayed a second time), Kirk, Spock, McCoy and Jones finally boarded their plane, newly equipped with bags beamed down by Scotty.  Their first impression upon boarding was of that well-known airplane smell.

"What is that smell?" Kirk asked, frowning.  "Smells like…upholstery or something."

"Maybe all planes smell like this," McCoy said dubiously.  "They have recirculated air."

"The _Enterprise_ has recirculated air," Kirk pointed out.

"I didn't say it was circulated very _well_."

"Ah."

The group inched their way down the decidedly narrow center aisle, checking seat numbers.  They located their seats partway back, over the wing.  Row 17, Seats A, B, C & D, D being across the aisle.

Kirk, at the front of the group, paused outside the row.  For some reason he had a bad feeling about that window seat, situated directly over the wing as it was.  He was at a complete loss to explain it, but he was certain he didn't want to sit there.  "Anybody else want the window seat?"

"If no one else is interested, I will take the window, Captain," Spock said.

"It's all yours, Spock," McCoy said.

Spock moved past Kirk in the aisle, and entered the row, seating himself next to the window.  Kirk entered next and sat next to Spock, followed by McCoy on his other side.  Jones, at the back of the group, took the seat across the aisle.  While the seating arrangements seemed basically satisfactory, the seats were not.

"There's practically _no_ leg room," McCoy complained.

"Not to mention elbow room," Kirk agreed.  "Think it's supposed to be this tight?"

"I don't know, and I'm afraid to ask.  We'd look like real idiots if this is normal."

"That's true."

"All the other seats look just as cramped, and no one else is complaining.  We better stay quiet."

"All right.  So…how long is this flight anyway?"  Not having been very interested in the mission, Kirk had taken a decidedly brief look at the details.  He was beginning to regret that.

"About four hours."

Kirk was somewhat taken aback.  "_Four hours_?  We must be going halfway around the planet!"

"Only about two thousand miles.  And keep your voice down, Jim!" McCoy cautioned.

"Two thousand…they really _are_ primitive," Kirk muttered.

Further conversation was cut short by the flight attendants coming into the aisles to explain the safety features; the locations of the exits, the seat cushions to be used as flotation devices in case of a water landing, how to use the gas masks that would drop from above if necessary, and so on.  None of these things were altogether reassuring to the Starfleet officers.  They were old pros at flying in space, but somehow flying through the air in an airplane didn't seem particularly safe.  The flight attendants eventually finished with the safety precautions, and said that take-off would be shortly.

*  *  *

Twenty minutes later:

"I wonder why we're still sitting here," Kirk said.

"No idea," was all McCoy could say by way of explanation.

"So, are we almost there yet?" Jones asked.

Kirk looked at him.  "We haven't gotten off the ground yet!"

"Oh."  Jones considered this.  "But are we almost there?"

*  *  *

Ten minutes after that:

Take off _finally_ began, one of the stewardesses explaining that they had had to wait for the runway to clear.  Apparently it was at last clear.  The flight attendants warned everyone to fasten their seatbelts, put up their trays, and stow carry-on bags either under the seats in front of them or in the overhead compartments.  And then it finally went.

The first sensation was one of movement and vibration, as the plane turned and barreled down the runway.  The movement picked up speed as the roaring sound increased, and was accompanied by a sort of humming noise.  The vibration turned to a jostling, the roaring grew louder, and then there was the feeling of being pushed back into their seats as the plane left the ground.  The heavy feeling pushing them into their seats abruptly changed to a feeling of almost weightlessness, which just as quickly went back to the feeling of heaviness.  That bounced back and forth for the next few moments, completely without any apparent rhyme or reason.

After three or four minutes the flight started to settle somewhat.  The humming had passed, though the roaring continued unabated (as it would for the rest of the flight), and the jostling had settled into only an occasional bump.  Mostly they felt at the correct weight, though the heaviness or lightness did turn up for a few seconds at a time, still for no clear reason.  It would be another ten minutes or so before the flight really smoothed out.

McCoy took a breath.  "These people need inertial dampeners."

"Badly," Kirk agreed, also feeling somewhat breathless.

"You're telling me," Jones said, looking at least green as Spock.

"Oh no."  McCoy rummaged through his bag again, and handed Jones a different pill.  "Take one of these, for motion sickness."

"Thanks," Jones said.

"So now we just sit here for the next four hours?" Kirk asked.

"I hope you brought a good book," McCoy said as an affirmative.

*  *  *

Hour 1:

"So…are we almost there?" Jones asked.

"No.  There's three hours left," Kirk said, trying valiantly to keep a grip on his frustration levels.

*  *  *

Hour 1.5:

An hour and a half into the flight, the meal was served.  Beverages had been brought around early on, and had been found fairly satisfactory.  Alcoholic beverages were extra money, but any amount of soda, water, and several other drinks was available free.  Consequently, the group had fairly high hopes for the lunch.  Until it came around anyway.

Lunch was described as being "picnic."  In other words, a sandwich, potato salad, and some cookies wrapped in foil, all contained inside a cardboard box.  Stated in that way, it doesn't sound bad.  It was worse.  The sandwich was mostly bread (and not very good bread), with rather cheap lunchmeat on it.  The only topping was mustard, if you happened to like mustard.  The potato salad tasted passable, if watery and plain, but certainly not gourmet.  The desert was actually quite edible.  It's hard to ruin chocolate cookies.  [A/N: Above is the only non-fiction section of the story.  That's exactly what they served.  Blech.]

McCoy tried one bite of the sandwich.  "They call this _food_?"

Kirk opted not to try it.  Spock, being a vegetarian, also did not eat the sandwich.

Jones had a slightly more positive reaction to the food.  "The sandwich is pretty bad.  The potato salad's okay though."

"You can have mine," McCoy said, handing the small tub to him.

"Likewise," Kirk said, doing similar.

"Thanks," Jones said, willing to eat three tubs of the stuff.  He was the only one.

"Enjoy," Kirk said sarcastically.

"Oh, I will.  By the way, are we almost there yet?" Jones asked.

Kirk regretted handing his potato salad to Jones.  If he still had it, he could hurl it at him.  He had to content himself with simply saying, "For the eleventh time, _no_!"

*  *  *

Hour 2:

Jones was filling less chipper than earlier.  In fact, he was feeling pretty rotten.

"Say, you feel all right, Ensign?" McCoy asked, concerned.

Jones swallowed hard.  "I don't feel at _all_ right.  My stomach seems to have lost track of where it belongs…"

McCoy frowned.  "That motion sickness spill ought to be working still."

"I don't think it's the motion, I think it's the potato salad."  [A/N: To avoid being sued for slander, no one I know of actually got food poisoning.  I wouldn't be surprised though.]

"Oh.  Yeah, I can see where that could possibly give you food poisoning."  McCoy hunted through his apparently bottomless medbag and came up with yet another pill.  "Try one of these."

"Thanks," Jones said.  "And are we almost there yet?"

"NO," Kirk said, heartily wishing he had something, _anything_, to fling at Jones.

*  *  *

Hour 2.5:

The cramped seats were staring to take their toll.  Actually, they'd _been_ taking their toll.  It just took a couple hours for it to get _really_ aggravating.

"You know, I had more room in the turbolift, I think," McCoy commented.

"I believe you," Kirk said sincerely.  "What do you think of the seats, Spock?"

The Vulcan had remained nearly silent for the last two hours, and did not seem inclined to break the streak.  "Not right now, please.  The song currently playing has a most remarkable intermingling of the guitar and keyboard music."

Kirk and McCoy looked at each other, and mutually decided that there wasn't much you could say in response to that.  Jones, however, did not seem to be hampered by any form of speechlessness.

"Are we—"

"NO!" McCoy and Kirk chorused together.

*  *  *

Hour 3:

The cramped seats continued to be a problem.

"My legs are killing me," McCoy griped, trying unsuccessfully to stretch his legs out.  "My aches have aches."

"At least you've still got feeling in yours," Kirk complained.

"Speaking of getting out of these chairs, are we almost there yet?"

Kirk sighed.  "Ensign, if you do not cease asking that question, _you_ may _never_ be there!"

Jones wisely decided not to comment.

*  *  *

Hour 3.5:

They were reaching the end of their patience levels towards the plane with amazing rapidity.  Extended time there had not led to any fondness.

"I may never complain about the transporter again," McCoy groaned.

"Of _that_ I have serious doubts," Kirk countered.  It would take a _lot_ to make Leonard McCoy reconcile with the transporters.

"Not for a couple days anyway."

*  *  *

Hour 4:

Arrival at their destination was imminent.  Landing, however, was not.

"The captain informs us it will be necessary to circle for a time before we will be able to land," one of the flight attendants announced brightly.

There were muffled groans from the Starfleet officers.

"Um…does this mean we're not there yet?" Jones asked.  "_Are_ we there yet?"

"No!  We're.  Not.  There.  Yet!"  Kirk was quite certain that if they did not land soon, he was going to crack and have a nervous breakdown.  "Say Bones…haven't you got anything you could give Jones to make him be quiet?" he asked quietly.

McCoy seemed shocked.  "Why Jim!  That would be an abuse of power!"

"I know.  So have you got anything?"

"I can't, I'm a doctor, not a…I don't know, a something.  I won't give him anything though.  It's against my principles."

"Are you sure we're not there yet?" Jones asked once again.

McCoy groaned. "On second thought…" He rummaged into his bag, coming up with still another bottle of pills.  "Here.  Take one of these."

Jones frowned.  "What is it?"

"A sedati— Er, never mind, just take it!"

Jones did, and spent the next hour staring dreamily out the window.

*  *  *

Hour 5:

After circling for an hour, it seemed they were finally going to land.  And not a moment too soon, either.  Jones' sedative was wearing off already, and Kirk was certain he was about five minutes from strangling him.

Landing was actually quite similar to take-off, only not so bad.  The same sort of jostling and heaviness/lightness, but in lesser degrees.  And then there was a bump and they were finally back on solid ground.  It was, however, another ten minutes before the plane taxied to wherever it was supposed to be and stopped moving.  It was at that point that the passengers were finally allowed to remove seat belts.

Kirk and McCoy staggered to their feet.  Jones stood up much too quickly and bumped his head against the overhead compartment.  Spock stood up with careless grace, apparently unbothered by the cramped quarters.

"Let's get out of here, and _fast_," Kirk said.

A quick exit was not to be had though.  The passengers crowded into the aisle, slowly inching towards the single exit door.  The Starfleet officers were, unfortunately, fairly near the back.  Disembarking looked to take quite some time.

"This is a barbaric way to get off a plane," Kirk said with certainty.  "Now wouldn't it make sense to have two doors, at either end of the plane?  Why, it would be logical even.  Don't you think so, Spock?"

"Please, Captain, the drum solo is starting."

It was about fifteen minutes before they managed to struggle to the exit door.  The flight attendants were standing by the door seeing the passengers off.

"Did you have a pleasant flight?" one stewardess asked cheerily.

"No.  It was terrible, but I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and believe it was as pleasant as you're able to make it, under the circumstances," Kirk said politely, then continued down the exit ramp.

The flight attendants looked at each other.  "What a strange thing to say!" one said.

Out in the airport, Kirk, Spock, and McCoy grouped together near the gate.

"All right," Kirk planned, "we'll find a secluded spot, call Scotty, beam out of here—"

"We can't, Jim," McCoy said.

"Why not?"

"We lost Jones somewhere."

Kirk looked around.  Sure enough, Jones was not in sight.  "Now how did we lose Jones?  He was right behind us I thought!"

McCoy shrugged. "We must have gotten separated trying to get off the plane."

"All right, so we'll wait for him."

Jones straggled out several minutes later, looking a bit the worse for wear.

"Ensign, what happened?" Kirk asked, surprised.

Jones shrugged.  "I got trampled," he said matter-of-factly.

"That's terrible!"

"Not the first time it's happened to me."

Kirk shook his head.  "All right, fine.  _Now_ let's get out of here."

"Sorry, Jim.  We have to pick up our bags first," McCoy pointed out.

Kirk sighed.  "And I thought stealing the cloaking device was a dangerous mission!"

*  *  *

They did eventually get a hold of their bags, though that was another half hour as they had to wait for quite some time.  And then, finally, they managed to beam up.  And for once McCoy did refrain from complaining about having his molecules scattered across the system.

*  *  *

The next morning, they had a report to write.  With that in mind, Kirk and Spock were in the briefing room, deciding exactly how to describe the mission to Starfleet.

"One word," Kirk said, lounging in a chair at the head of the table, "'Absolutely dreadful.'"

"That is two words."

"Fine.  Put 'dreadful' and send it."

"Don't you think Starfleet expects something more complete, Jim?" McCoy asked, entering in time to catch the last sentence.

"Probably," Kirk admitted.  "About time you got here, Bones.  Where's Ensign…"  He shook his head.  "Never can remember that kid's name."

"Jones.  And he's…not feeling too well," McCoy said uncomfortably, taking a seat.

"What happened to him now?"

"Well…remember how he had the headache and I gave him a pill for that?  And then he had motion sickness and I gave him a pill for that?  And then he got food poisoning from the potato salad and I gave him a pill for that?  And then you got tired of hearing him ask if we were there yet and I gave him a pill for that?"

"Yeah, I remember.  So what?"

McCoy shrugged uncomfortably.  "Turns out I overdosed him a little."

"_Bones_!  Don't you think you ought to be careful of that?!"

"I am, Jim, you know I am.  He's got low resistance.  Anyway, he's pretty much fine now physically, except he thinks he's having a nervous breakdown."

Kirk blinked.  "Is he?  Having one?"

"No, but he somehow got the idea he is.  He'll be all right in a day or two."

"Well, if you say so.  Right now, we've got a report to write."

"How's that coming?" McCoy asked.

"We have already written much of the basic report," Spock informed him.

"Yeah, although I still think we could sum it up as 'terrible.'"

"I believe you suggested 'dreadful,' Captain," Spock reminded him.

Kirk shrugged.  "Take your pick."

"Anyway, what's left to write?" McCoy asked.

"Primarily, our recommendation."

"Recommendation?" Kirk repeated.  "What recommendation?"

Spock looked at him sharply.  Well, as sharp as Spock ever gets.  "The recommendation that was the purpose of this entire mission."

Kirk tried to remember just how much of the mission directive he'd read, and concluded it had been about two sentences.  "Okay, so I missed that part."

McCoy apparently had done the same.  "Me too.  Or else you two got a different written directive."

"Our recommendation," Spock said patiently, "regarding the efficiency of the airport system and whether it would be feasible to emulate it for plans regarding civilian passage between planets."

Kirk and McCoy both sat bolt upright.  

"They want to emulate _that_ for interplanetary travel?" McCoy said, incredulous.

"I believe I just made that statement."

"They couldn't.  They wouldn't," Kirk said decisively.

"There is no reason why they would not, assuming we turn in even a moderately favorable report."

"I'll tell you why they wouldn't.  Because if they try it I'll…I'll defect to the Romulans!"

"I'll go with you, Jim," McCoy said fervently.

"And you can put that in the report, too!"

Spock considered.  "That is most illogical.  But it does provide an excellent reason why they would not."

Well, Jones really had a great day, didn't he?  Next chapter won't be any better for him.  [laughs evilly]  Chapter 16 will be up as soon as I can manage it!  (Lack of time here, homework to deal with now.  Sigh…)

One last note:

Remember that line near the beginning, where Kirk had a bad feeling about sitting in the window seat over the wing?  (Since I took the time to put it in I want to draw attention to it.) Anybody want to guess why that is?  It's Shatner-lore not Kirk-lore, but you still might know.  That's the only hint, that it's about Shatner.  Anybody with a guess put it in the review which you will be writing, of course. ^_^   If you get it right…you don't get anything but I'll be impressed.  (Hey, I'd send you to the Enterprise if I could, but I'm severely limited in that regard.)  If no one gets it I'll explain next chapter.  

Cheerio, all!  I hope you found it a jolly good show!


	16. Orange Juice

Disclaimer: Don't own Star Trek, yada yada yada.  Oh, and if you're concerned with this sort of thing, no yellow-shirts or blue-shirts were harmed in the making of this.

trekker-t and amberlin: Congrats, you got it.  I'm impressed.  One question: John Lithgow?  Far as I know only Shatner saw the gremlin.  Detailed explanation for everybody else at the end.

Stargazer: Exploding would probably be a bad idea…

EmpressLeia: If I get an idea, I'll be sure to let you know.  Glad you enjoyed the last chapter.  ^_^

Keridwen: Planes are evil.  Good luck with your computer.

Meredith: Glad you liked.  No suggestions?  Oh well, there's a long list of past ones still.  Including this chapter's.  Thanks for suggesting they flood the Mess Hall with orange juice!

Part Sixteen:

Orange Juice

_Having completed their mission on Borelia II, the Enterprise is en route to their next assignment:_

Ensign Jones was finally feeling normal again.  It had taken an hour to solve the problem of the over-medication, and a day and a half for him to get over his 'nervous breakdown.'  Now that he was feeling well again, he had decided to stop in at the Mess Hall for a drink.  It was coming on towards ship's night, and the Mess Hall was deserted as Ensign Jones walked over to the replicators to order his drink.

"Orange juice, please."

"Specify quantity," the computer said crisply.

Jones shrugged.  "Oh, lots of orange juice, lots and lots."

Orange juice began gushing out of the replicators at an alarming rate.  And kept gushing.  And gushing and gushing and gushing.  Jones began to feel alarmed, as the orange juice spread rapidly across the floor.

"Stop, stop, that's enough!"

"You specified 'lots of orange juice, lots and lots.'  You do not yet have lots."

The computer had an interesting definition of lots, as by now the orange juice had spread across most of the Mess Hall floor.

"I said _stop_!" Jones shouted, vainly trying to stem the flow of orange juice with his hands, and getting soaked for his trouble.  "That's _enough_!  STOP!"

The replicators didn't listen.  If anything the flow of orange juice increased, until the replicators were hidden by a deluge of frothing juice.

*  *  *

Spock was walking down the corridor towards the Mess Hall.  The Mess Hall doors opened, and Spock stepped aside just in time to avoid a foaming torrent of orange juice.  Fortunately for him, the corridor slanted somewhat, and he had the foresight to step to higher, rather than lower, ground. Inside the Mess Hall, the level of orange juice had risen to chest high, with ever more pouring out.  Suddenly having an outlet via the door, a great wave swept down the corridor, carrying the shrieking and struggling Ensign Jones with it.  

"Heeeeelp!" shrieked Jones as the wave of juice carried him out of sight around a bend in the hallway.

Spock watched for as moment as the juice continued to pour out of the Mess Hall with no signs of letting up.  Then, still as calm as he had been before he opened the Mess Hall doors, he stepped over to the comm unit, and called the bridge.

"Kirk here," came the reply.

"Captain, I believe we may have a slight problem.  The Mess Hall seems to be flooded with orange juice."  Only a Vulcan could have kept such a completely straight face.

*  *  *

It did prove to be a rather substantial problem.  They had to locate Scotty and send him slogging through the orange juice to the replicators so he could fix whatever the problem was.  He concluded that the auditory sensors had misconstrued the connotation of Jones' vocal declaration.  In other words, they didn't know what he meant and got confused.  Scotty did manage to turn off the orange juice, but predicted it could be a week before he could solve the problem.

To tell the truth, that was only _one_ problem.  On the bridge, Kirk and McCoy were discussing the other trouble.

"So how bad's the damage?" McCoy asked.

Kirk shrugged.  "Could be worse I guess.  Of course, it could be better too.  We've got puddles of orange juice spread across most of the deck."

McCoy chuckled.  "Could definitely be trouble.  Can't have the crew slipping in orange juice."

"Yeah.  I'm thinking it could have a plus side though."

"How?"

"What if we got the whole crew out to clean it up?"

McCoy looked doubtful.  "I'm still waiting for the plus side, Jim."

"That _is_ the plus side.  Might be good for unity."

"Cleaning up spilled orange juice?  I have some reservations."

"We could at least put that spin on it.  And positive or not, that's most likely what's going to happen."

"Haven't we got some mechanical thing to do that?"

"Automatic evaporizors."

"Fine.  So get those to clean it up.

"They broke.  Scotty claims it'll be three weeks to get them fixed."

"Huh.  So you're gonna drag the whole crew out with mops, and have them mop it all up."

"Pretty much," Kirk admitted.

McCoy shook his head.  "Well count me out.  I'm a doctor, not a custodian.

Kirk didn't like what he had to say.  And he _knew_ McCoy wouldn't like it.  "Sorry, Bones.  You're definitely counted in."

"I'm _what_?" he growled.

Kirk tried to explain the rationale behind it.  "Well see, I don't think the crew's going to be too eager to do this."

"No, I doubt they will be," McCoy agreed sourly.

"So I'm thinking, the only way I'll get them to do it even half-way willingly is if the senior crew is mopping to.  So that means both of us."  An idea hit him, the one thing that might get McCoy to agree.  "And it means Spock too."

McCoy considered.  "Well…all right then."

*  *  *

Later that afternoon, more than half the crew turned out to clean up the juice.  Including the most senior officers.  Kirk, Spock, and McCoy were present, mops in hand, helping to clean up the mess.  At least one third of that group was less than enthusiastic.

"This is ridiculous," McCoy griped.

"I have never understood human's sense of humor.  In what way is cleaning the floor humorous?" Spock inquired.

McCoy rolled his eyes.  "Not _that_ kind of ridiculous."

"Don't start you two," Kirk warned.  "We've got work to do."

"'Start,' Captain?" Spock said innocently.  "I was merely requesting that Dr. McCoy clarify his less than clear statement regarding—"

"Don't explain.  Just mop."  Kirk was fast coming to the conclusion that it may not have been the best of ideas to work next to Spock and McCoy, under the circumstances.  This early exchange was a pretty clear indicator that it was not wise for his personal safety.  It was only his concern for the ship and the other crewmembers in this corridor that kept him from moving to the other end of the deck.  Or better yet, leaving the ship completely.

It was not long before McCoy felt moved to comment again.  "I did not join Starfleet to mop the floor, you know."

"That fact should be evident to everyone present," Spock said calmly.

"Really?"

"Yes.  Starfleet does not have a Janitorial Corps.  Therefore it is impossible for you to have joined Starfleet with the express desire to mop floors."

McCoy groaned.  "Spock, you are one of a kind."

"All beings in the galaxy that we know of are one of a kind, with the exception of clones, which I am not.  Therefore, stating that I am one of a kind is—"

"Spock, stop," McCoy said through gritted teeth.

"Stop what?"

"Just stop!"

"Doctor, if you will not explain yourself—"

"Spock.  Stop," Kirk said.

"Should I take that to mean I should cease talking?"

McCoy moaned.  "Now why does he understand you, and not…oh forget it!"

Spock applied himself studiously to his mopping, while McCoy went at it with a vengeance.

This was not going well, Kirk had to admit.  At the rate he was going, McCoy ought to snap within the hour, and Spock seemed inclined to help him along.

They managed to work in silence for a time, Kirk hoping whole-heartedly that the silence would remain unbroken until they finished the job and left.  It didn't.  The next statement wasn't from McCoy, but Spock.

"Upon proper consideration, there are several positive attributes inherent in the act of mopping," Spock commented.

"_Do_ enlighten us," McCoy said, dripping sarcasm in equal quantities to the orange juice currently dripping out of his mop.

"One positive is the excellent exercise in mopping."

"You don't say."

"Actually, I do and just did.  Mopping is an excellent way to increase upper body strength.  Besides working the various arm muscles, mopping can also increase strength in the deltoid and trapezius muscles of the upper back."

McCoy rolled his eyes.  "Oh, how wonderful.  I always wanted a strong trapezius.  Haven't you always wanted a strong trapezius, Jim?"

"I suppose," Kirk said noncommittally.

"Pray tell, what other marvelous benefits are there in mopping?"

"Another fine quality of mopping is that it keeps one's hands and eyes busy at a useful task, while allowing one's mind to follow different lines," Spock said, completely straight-faced.

"You don't want to know what lines _my_ thoughts are following," McCoy assured him, pleasant words not masking the general aggravation he was feeling.

Kirk had strong suspicions this was _very_ true.

"And what fascinating lines is your mind following?" McCoy asked, too pleasantly for comfort.  If he recalled that he'd asked this question in the turbolift, he didn't mention the fact.

The logical thing for Spock to do would have been to evade the question.  We will not attempt to explain why he did not.  "I was calculating mathematically the most efficient length of mop sweep so as to maximize cleaning while conserving energy.  You are exerting more energy then is strictly necessary."

McCoy groaned.  "Spock…_why_?"

"Why what?"

"_Why_ do you feel the need to say things like that?!"

Spock looked at him.  "If you are not interested in the lines of my mental tract, I suggest you do not ask.  It is not logical to ask for information you do not wish to receive."

"Oh, that's _it_!"  McCoy advanced towards Spock, swinging his mop in the Vulcan's general direction.  "You may have nerve-pinched me in the turbolift, but let's see you get within arm's length now!"

"Doctor, are you attacking me with a mop?"  If Spock was feeling anything, it was only some amount of surprise.

"_Yes_, you pointy-eared computer!  I am attacking you with a _mop_!"

"Doctor, while I appreciate it is difficult for you, _try_ to control yourself."

McCoy seemed to have no inclinations to control himself.

"Doctor…Dr. McCoy…Doc—"  Spock opted for a strategic retreat.  In other words, he fled down the corridor, McCoy, brandishing a mop, in hot pursuit.

Kirk watched them dispassionately.  Now that the confrontation he'd been dreading had finally been set off, he found himself strangely unconcerned about stopping it.  He knew, as captain, he probably should.  While he doubted it was spelled out in his job description, he strongly suspected Starfleet would expect him to prevent his senior officers from killing each other.  But on the other hand, he doubted they'd really do much damage to each other, and it _would_ be interesting to see what would happen if McCoy caught up to Spock.  And besides, while he was willing to face down a Klingon if necessary, he wasn't particularly eager to get in the way of McCoy at the moment.  But on the other _other_ hand, there were over a dozen crewmembers of varying ranks present, and the sight of the chief medical officer chasing the first officer down the corridor with a mop wasn't one to inspire confidence in one's leaders.  But on the other other _other_ hand, it was a decidedly dull mission they were currently on, and a little excitement wouldn't hurt anyone. But on the—

The decision was abruptly taken out of Kirk's hands as the conflict resolved itself.  Running down a corridor still slick in spots with orange juice is not the safest thing in the galaxy.  Safer than fighting Klingons, but less safe then checking the status of tricorders in Sickbay.  Also considerably safer than trying to steal a cloaking device, but not half as safe as…well, to get to the point: they soon came upon a puddle.  Spock being Spock stepped over it without breaking stride.  McCoy being McCoy did not.

Instead, McCoy hit the puddle, and slipped.  Balance lost, he stayed upright for a moment or two, arms pin-wheeling frantically, before finally having his feet go out from under him. He went down into the middle of the puddle, making a rather impressive splash, considering the shallow depth.

Spock stopped a few feet away and regarded him.  "I believe the logical course to take at this juncture would be for me to continue mopping.  On the other end of the ship."  He turned, and calmly walked down the corridor.

McCoy glared after the Vulcan's retreating back, his face an interesting shade of red.  Kirk walked over to McCoy, and looked at him.

"You all right, Bones?"

"If you _laugh_, Jim…" McCoy threatened, somehow managing to be rather imposing despite the fact that he was flat on his back in a puddle of orange juice.

"Who's laughing?" Kirk asked.  The answer being: several red-shirts who were trying, not very successfully, to suppress it, and, if not for very stern self-control, Kirk.  "Need a hand?"

"No," McCoy snapped, then sighed.  "Oh, I guess so," he said, and let Kirk help him up.  "Why does he bother me so much?  _Why_?"

Kirk shrugged.  It wasn't a question with a simple answer.  It was the sort of question that could be debated for quite some time.  "He's just Spock, I guess."

"Well, _that's_ true enough!  You know, that's not a _logical_ answer to the question though."

Further discussion was cut short, due to a sudden distraction.  A faint hissing noise started, and suddenly all the orange juice still on the floor evaporated away.

"Oh.  Scotty must have fixed the evaporizers," Kirk commented.

"I thought he needed three weeks," McCoy pointed out.

Kirk shrugged.  "That's Scotty for you."

"Whatever.  If I never mop again it'll be too soon."

Kirk rather felt he had to agree.

McCoy chasing Spock with a mop.  You probably won't see it anywhere else.  And if you do, let me know, I want to read that story. 

As to the whole plane thing.  It's from a _Twilight Zone_ episode Shatner was on a few years before _Star Trek_.  His character had had a nervous breakdown on a plane, and spent the last few months in a sanitarium.  Now he's flying home, and somewhat nervous.  He has (can you guess?) the window seat right over the wing.  Things get bad when he starts seeing a gremlin on the wing of the plane.  And to make it worse, the gremlin's messing with the engines.  Shatner's the only one who sees it, so everyone else figures he's going nuts again.  He does go a little wacko.  He gets a gun somewhere (I think he steals it off a marshal), breaks the window, and winds up hanging out of the plane, trying to shoot the gremlin.  They haul him back in and he's okay, but they ship him off to the sanitarium again.  He _does_ get over his fear of planes because _he_ knows the gremlin really was there, but it's a pretty rough ride all the same.  So Kirk has good reasons for feeling…_apprehensive_ about the window seat.

Next chapter as soon as I figure out what it is and write it, which, I hope, will be soon.  In the meantime, review!


	17. Pursuit of Feral Brante Leucopsis

Disclaimer: For the sixteenth time, I don't own Star Trek.  I'm sure you're all very surprised.  I also can't take credit for the title or premise, as they were suggested by Starseeker, thank you very much.  Also the scene between Spock and McCoy regarding the pursuit of feral brante leucopsis.  Much of the general insanity, however, is mine.

Lots of reviews equals lots of notes, so here we go:

Hanakina: A cat named Spock…heehee, a little odd, yes.

Meredith and Charmega: Congrats, so a few more people knew the trivia.  You're late, but I'm still impressed.  ^_^  Thanks for the suggestions also, strange as they may be.  :)

Keridwen: Just to clarify, I don't actually know much about Shatner.  I just happened to have seen that Twilight Zone.  More chapters _would_ be nice…I'm hardly in a position to complain about lack of posting though, am I?

Starseeker: Thanks for the suggestion, I said that though.  Inspired?  Really?  Cool.

Trekker-t: Well that would explain it, thank you.

EmpressLeia: I guess there was nowhere else it _could_ go…heheh, glad you liked.

And now the story.  Which really is about a goose.

Chapter Seventeen:

In Pursuit of Feral Brante Leucopsis

_The Enterprise is currently involved in a public-relations junket, ferrying Ambassador Bilden to neighboring world Gospen.  After getting the ambassador and his many bags and attendants aboard, everyone returns to their jobs.  A peaceful trip, however, is not to be:_

Kirk came sprinting into Sickbay at full speed.  The doors shut behind him and he leaned against them, looking stunned.  Also looking like he'd been in a rather rough fight, his shirt ripped across one shoulder.  McCoy watched him in some concern.

"You all right, Jim?" he asked, frowning.

Kirk glanced at him, still appearing rather shaken.  "Bones."  It was a statement.

McCoy's frown deepened.  "Yes, Jim."  He hoped Kirk's next words would offer explanations.  They didn't.

"Goose."

"Uhhh…"

Kirk gestured vaguely over his shoulder.  "There's a goose.  Loose.  In the corridors."  He glanced at the rip in his shirt.  "And it's vicious too."

If McCoy had been concerned before, that was nothing compared to now.  "So…a vicious _goose_ ripped your shirt."

"That about sums it up," Kirk agreed.

"Jim, we need to talk," McCoy said meaningfully.

Kirk was rapidly recovering from the shock of being attacked by a goose in the corridors of his own ship.  And it didn't take telepathy to figure out what McCoy was thinking.  "I'm not crazy, Bones."

"Who said you were crazy?" McCoy asked, a bit too innocently.

"There really is a goose.  Loose.  In the corridors."

"Sure, Jim.  We get wild geese around here _all_ the time."

"Wait a minute, I'll prove it to you.  It's got to be around here somewhere, it was after me before…"

The Sickbay doors opened.  The corridor was empty.  Kirk and McCoy looked around.  Nothing.

"Just wait a minute," Kirk said.

"Right…"

In the distance was the sound of pounding footsteps.  They grew louder as they came closer.  Soon, a frantically running man in a red-shirt sped past.

"_GOOSE_!" Jones shrieked.

"Honk!  Honk!"  A goose flapped past, flying after Jones.

Kirk and McCoy stepped back, and the doors shut.  McCoy seemed somewhat stunned.

"There _is_ a goose.  Loose.  In the corridors!"

"I _told_ you."

"Next time you tell me there's a goose loose in the corridors, I promise to believe you," McCoy vowed.

"Thanks, I appreciate that."

"Any time."

"Right now though, we have to deal with the present goose.  I mean, crisis."

McCoy frowned.  "What are you going to do, Jim?"

"I am going to fight the goose!  Last time it came up behind me and caught me by surprise, but _now_ I'm ready!"

"Maybe we should call security."

"No.  This is _my_ job.  _My_ ship.  _My_ fight.  _My goose_!"

Kirk picked up his phaser, and stormed out the door.

*  *  *

Kirk prowled the corridors, phaser ready.  Somewhere on his ship there was a goose.  Loose.  In the corridors.  And he was going to find it.  Soon he came to a corridor that intersected the one he was currently in.  He paused to consider, wondering which direction to go.  To the right, he heard footsteps.  He waited.

Soon, Ensign Jones came into view, running madly down the length of the corridor.

"_Loose goose_!" Jones hollered, running by.

The goose flew after him.  Kirk raised his phaser, took aim, and pressed the trigger.

"_Don't shoot_!" someone bellowed from behind him.

Kirk jerked his arm upwards, and the phaser blew a hole into the ceiling, giving view to the deck above.  Kirk looked at that hole unhappily.

"Scotty is going to have my _head_ for this," he muttered, then turned to see who had interrupted him.

It was Ambassador Bilden.

"Ambassador.  I was—"

The ambassador was shaking with fury.  "You were firing at The Goose!"  

The goose, by the way, was long gone.  Presumably still chasing Jones.

"The _goose_ was—"

"The Geese are sacred!"

Kirk blinked, a few things becoming clear.  "This is your goose?"

"Of course!  The Goose was brought aboard with us!"

Kirk felt his temper fraying.  "Well now it's loose.  In the my corridors.  Terrorizing _my_ crew!"

Ambassador Bilden nodded, apparently unaware that it was a bad idea to get Kirk mad at him.  "Yes, it unfortunately escaped the quarters assigned to my party."

"Unfortunately," Kirk agreed, not altogether pleasantly.  "And I can't just let it run, er, _fly_ wild!"

"Of course not.  But you must not harm The Sacred Goose!"

"Then what do you propose I do?!"

"You must capture The Goose, so he can be returned to his place of honor in our rooms.  But you must _not_ harm The Goose!"

Kirk had a suspicion this was going to be a _long_ day.

*  *  *

"The goose is _sacred_?" McCoy said in quite a bit of consternation.

"The goose is sacred," Kirk confirmed.  "It's also a menace that must be stopped."

Kirk, for lack of a better idea, had called a department heads meeting, to determine what to do about the geese.  Consequently, Kirk, Spock, McCoy, Scotty, Sulu, Chekov, and Uhura were gathered around the briefing room table.  Being briefed.

"The obvious question which arises is: how shall we deal with the goose-situation?" Spock asked.  How he said 'goose-situation' with a straight face is one of the wonders of Vulcan-hood.

"Who cares about the goose?" Scotty muttered balefully.  "When ye consider what was done to me ship!"

Kirk sighed.  "Scotty, I _told_ you.  It was the goose or the ceiling."

"Well it shoulda been the goose!  Sacred goose, _hah_!  Do ye have any idea how long it'll take me to fix that hole?"  He shook his head muttering, "No respect, none whatsoever."

"I respect the _Enterprise_!  I just try not to shoot at something when someone's hollering 'don't shoot' at me!"

"Perhaps if we could set aside the issue of the ceiling for the moment and return to the matter of the goose, we would make better progress," Spock said smoothly.

"Oh.  Right."  Kirk considered.  "We can't hurt the goose, but it's a menace, so we have to stop it.  Which means, we aren't fighting a wild goose, we're now _chasing_ a wild goose.  We'll need to organize—"

He was interrupted by a whistle from the comm unit.  Nurse Chapel's voice came over the line.  "Sickbay to Dr. McCoy, medical emergency."

McCoy flipped the comm switch.  "What's the problem, Chris?"

"A crewmember just came in with goose-bites," she explained.

"Do geese have teeth?" McCoy asked.

"Well goose-_nips_ then.  Whatever they are, they're definitely goose-inflicted."

"All right, I'll be right down."  McCoy stood.  "I trust you can carry on without me.  After all, I'm a doctor, not a zoologist."

*  *  *

Shortly later in Sickbay, McCoy was dealing with Ensign Jones, who was indeed suffering from goose-inflicted injuries.

"I tell you, it's wacko!  Wacko!" Jones jabbered.  "There I was, walking along, minding my own business.  And suddenly there was a goose!  Loose!  In the corridor!  And it chased me!"

"Yes, Ensign."

"Next thing I knew, I was running frantically down the corridor, with the goose in pursuit.  And that Ambassador has the nerve to holler at me about not harming the goose!"

"Yes, Ensign."

"Sacred geese!"  Jones went off on a wild spurt of laughter.  "Geese!  Sacred!" He continued laughing wildly.

McCoy eyed him for a moment, then injected a hypo into his arm.  Jones calmed noticeably.

"The Captain doesn't know what he's up against!" Jones said fervently.  "They're going to be chasing that goose all over the corridors.  And they'll _never_ catch it!  Because it is a _thing of evil_!"  Okay, so he wasn't _much_ calmer.

"Well, I think you're all patched up, Ensign."

"Thanks.  I have to return to my post, to fight the goose, though I know the battle is hopeless!"

Jones strode out the doors, McCoy watching him leave.

McCoy shook his head.  "I _need_ to find time to look at his pysch file."

*  *  *

War was being waged in the corridors.  It was man versus goose.  Goose was winning.

They had divided into groups, and were ranging throughout the ship, searching for the bird.  Occasionally a group came upon the goose, and then a wild chase ensued.  The Starfleet officers were badly hampered by their inability to use their phasers (for phasers would harm the sacred goose).  Hand to hand combat with a goose is not an easy ting.  Especially when the goose bites.  And flies.

Down in Sickbay, McCoy was kept rather busy dealing with crewmembers suffering from goose-injuries.  After a time though, he concluded it would be more efficient (_efficient_, mind you, not logical) to send the staff out into the corridors to deal with the wounded there, rather than having everyone traipse down to Sickbay.  Saved time and kept the feathers out in the corridors.  The downside was that it left him, McCoy out of the loop in Sickbay, regarding the progress of the goose-fight.  Such was not to remain the case for long.

*  *  *

Spock was engaged in chasing the goose, as was nearly everyone else.  As he passed Sickbay, he paused to consider.  He had a felling—correction.  Logically, he felt—correction again.  He decided that, logically, it might be wise to stop and inform the Doctor of their progress.  Or (to be strictly accurate) lack thereof.  Dr. McCoy would no doubt become somewhat annoyed if he was not kept apprised of the situation, and that was not a positive thing.  Therefore, Spock stopped into Sickbay.

*  *  *

"So the goose is giving Jim a real run for his money, eh?" McCoy commented.

Spock looked at him quizzically.

"They're having trouble catching the goose," McCoy explained patiently, forestalling any comments regarding the Captain's lack of money invested in the situation.

"That is correct.  The Ambassador is most displeased."

"Well then why doesn't the ambassador capture his own goose?"

Spock considered.  "All things being equal, that would be logical.  However, the Ambassador claims he lacks sufficient men."

McCoy tried to decide if Spock had just said he was being logical.  He came up with a tentative yes, but concluded it would be far too easy for Spock to deny everything if he brought it up.  "So we're stuck trying to catch the goose.  Without success."

"Yes.  The situation reminds me of a particular Earth saying involving the pursuit of feral branta leucopsis."

"The _what_?"

There was a faint sigh.  "A wild goose chase, Doctor."

McCoy rolled his eyes.  "Now why couldn't you say that to _begin_ with?"

"I believe I _did_ say that, if perhaps not in those exact words.  Simply because you fail to—"

"Oh forget it!"  McCoy took a deep breath.  The last two times he'd lost his temper with Spock had _not_ gone well.  "You were saying it reminded you of a wild goose chase."

"Yes."

"It _is_ a wild goose chase!"

"That is undoubtedly why I was reminded of it."

McCoy moaned.  "Spock…go chase a wild goose."

Spock frowned imperceptibly.  "Doctor, perhaps I am misunderstanding your syntax."

"Go chase the goose and get out my sight before I do something we'll both regret!"

"Ah.  It seems I was correct in your syntax.  I will be leaving then."

Spock exited Sickbay, musing over the conversation.  His stop in Sickbay had clearly failed to have the intended result.  Further proof that attempting to understand Dr. McCoy was a most illogical endeavor.

*  *  *

McCoy's next visitor proved equally aggravating, though…rather different than Spock.  McCoy was in the back room when he heard the doors woosh open.

"I'll be with you in a min—"

"Honk!"

McCoy's eyes widened.  Either a crewmember with a _really_ bad cold had come in, or…  He peered cautiously into the outer room.  It wasn't a crewmember.  It was the goose.

"Oh, _wonderful_!"

The goose spotted him in the doorway, and charged.  Or rather, flew straight at his head.  McCoy did the only sensible thing under the circumstances, and ducked.  The goose flew overhead, made a sharp u-turn, and flew back into the outer room, where it commenced flapping about wildly.

McCoy watched it nervously.  It was bound to fly into _something_ soon, and what a mess _that_ would make!  Even so, he wasn't too keen on tackling the goose himself.  Clearly, reinforcements were necessary.  He moved over to the comm unit in the back room and called Kirk.

"Jim?  About the goose.  It's—"

"Still loose in the corridors, I know.  We'll have it soon."  Kirk sounded frustrated.  "If the ambassador would just stop shouting about _sacred geese_—"

"Jim," McCoy interrupted.  "It's not loose in the corridors.  It's loose in Sickbay."

There was a pause on the other end of the line as Kirk took this in.  During that pause there was a rather loud crashing noise from the outer room.  McCoy winced.

"We'll be right down," Kirk said after a moment.  "Kirk out."

McCoy cautiously walked back to the doorway to the outer room.  He looked out.  The goose had successfully knocked quite a bit of equipment to the floor.  Nothing looked broken, but…and the goose was still flying, who knew what it would hit next. Despite all that, McCoy was willing to leave it to its own devices until Kirk and the security guards could arrive on the scene.  The goose _was_ quite vicious, and how was he supposed to single-handedly catch it anyway?

However, Sickbay's only other inhabitant had, by this time, discovered there was a bird flying around, and found this _most_ fascinating.

McCoy noticed the black cat crouched just beyond the doorway.  "Sarek, you are _not_ going to attack that bird."

"Mrrrow…"  The thrill of the hunt was clear in Sarek's eyes.

"Yes, I know cats chase birds.  But cats chase _sparrows_, not geese!"

Sarek started to move forward towards the goose.

"Sarek, you listen to me!"

Sarek wasn't listening.

*  *  *

Kirk and several red-shirts, er, security guards, arrived on the scene a few minutes later.  They didn't appear to be needed though.  Janitors, now, _janitors_ were needed.  Feathers and fallen equipment were scattered pretty much everywhere.  The goose, however, while still honking madly, was wrapped up in a blanket from one of the biobeds.  Sarek was standing guard over it, looking very smug.  McCoy was replicating tuna.

"Oh hi, Jim, about time you got here," McCoy said cheerfully.

"We were on the other side of the ship…"  Kirk was staring at the goose.  "I guess we can declare the goose-crisis past."

"It looks that way," McCoy agreed.

"Well.  Nice work, Bones."

"Actually, it wasn't me," McCoy admitted.  "It was Sarek."

Kirk blinked.  "The cat?"

"No, the Vulcan philosopher.  Of _course_ the cat!  Cats chase birds, you know."

"Yeah, but _geese_?"

McCoy shrugged, ignoring the fact that he'd had pretty much the same thoughts earlier.  "He cornered the goose somehow anyway.  After that it was easy for me to tackle him and wrap him up."

"So the cat caught the goose."

"I'd like to see a tribble do _that_!" McCoy said smugly.

Oh I _enjoyed_ writing this!  I hope you enjoyed reading it.  And do be so good as to review.  ^_^

In case you're wondering, the ambassador was a bit miffed, but concluded The Sacred Goose had not been harmed, and so he was dropped off on Gospen without further incident.  

Next chapter will be up on Friday, barring radical changes in my plans.  You want a hint regarding the topic, consider the day it's being posted.  Heeheehee…

Now go write a review.


	18. Friday the Thirteenth

Disclaimer: Star Trek is Paramount's.  Simmons is Starseeker's.  Jones is mine!  Bwahahahah!  If you ask nicely I might let you play with him.

Trekker-T: Thanks, can't promise this tops anything but…enjoy anyway, 'kay?

Meredith: Spock as a cat…hmm.  Could be amusing….  Oh, and tell Random Guy I've never even _heard_ of "Mr. T vs." sites.  If that makes me totally out of the loop, so be it.

EmpressLeia: You know what?  You are way too observant.  Also completely correct.  Surak…Sarak…Sarek…they all sound the same, y'know? [shrug] _Vulcans_!

Starseeker: Now, what does one say in response to hysterical laughter?  I'll just grin…

And presenting…Friday the Thirteenth!  Jones has it rough.  But what else is new?

Chapter Eighteen:

Friday the Thirteenth

Simmons, deputy chief of security, had a problem.  He often had problems, to tell the truth.  Problems happened when your department lost a man or two every week or so.  But this was rather a different sort of problem.  And whenever someone had a different sort of problem, they tended to call up the captain.  No particular reason, simply because.  So Simmons contacted the bridge.

"Captain Kirk?  I have a slight problem," Simmons said over the comm.

"Oh."  Kirk considered.  On the emergency scale, 'slight problems' could rate anywhere from one to ten.  From Scotty, 'slight problems' could mean imminent warp core ejection.  Definitely a ten.  Tens rarely came from security though.  "What slight problem is that?"

"Well…one of our security guards, Ensign Jones, is refusing to report for duty."

"Ah."  Well _that_ rated about a zero-point-two.

"He won't come out of his quarters.  I threatened to call you and he said 'go right ahead' so…"

"Hmm."  A crewmember barricaded in his quarters had some possibilities.  Maybe not on the emergency level, but perhaps on the interest level.  "I think I'll take care of this personally."

"I—thank you, Captain."

"All part of the job description."

*  *  *

It took Kirk a little while to arrive on the scene.  Mostly because he had not the faintest idea where Jones' quarters were.  So that slowed him down a bit, but he eventually managed to locate them with the help of the computer.  He arrived to find Simmons involved in a heated argument with a closed door; or rather, with Jones who was on the other side of the door.

"There is absolutely no reason to barricade yourself!" Simmons was shouting.

"Well I happen to think there is!" Jones could be heard shouting back.

"Even if there is, you can't just barricade yourself!  If we all barricaded ourselves whenever there was danger, landing parties would never make it off the ship!"

"I'm still not coming out!"

"Oh really?!  Well the Captain's coming, and we'll just see what _he_ says—"  

It was about there that Simmons realized the Captain wasn't coming.  He was already there.  Simmons jumped to attention, and snapped off a somewhat wild salute that, had Kirk been a bit closer, would have taken his head off. 

"Captain Kirk!"

"Um…at ease," Kirk said.

"Yes, sir!  Ensign Jones still refuses to come out, sir."

"So I see."

"Yes, sir."

"I'll take over from here.  You can go back to…whatever it is you do," Kirk finished rather lamely.  "Which, of course, I'm sure is very important to the ship's security," he added quickly.

"Yes, sir!"  Simmons marched smartly down the hallway, off to whatever it is he did on the ship.  He currently had two funerals to plan.

Kirk walked over to Jones' door, and rapped on it.  All that did was make his knuckles smart a little.  He ignored it.

"Jones, this is Captain Kirk!  Open the door!"

"No!" Jones shouted.  "I won't!  I won't!"

"I'm ordering you to come out!"

"I still won't!"

"Then I'll have to come in!" Kirk warned.

"Go right ahead and try!"

Kirk eyed the door.  He backed across the corridor from it to allow for momentum.  Then, with a bit of a start, he went crashing against the door, with every intention of breaking it down as they did in old movies.

The door did not react.  As for Kirk, his eyes widened, he clutched his shoulder, muttered a few things that won't be included for the sake of our G-rating, and went to call Spock.

What exactly he expected Spock to do about this whole mess is somewhat unclear.  But whenever the captain had a different sort of problem, he tended to call up Spock.  No particular reason, simply because.

*  *  *

Spock arrived within minutes.  Even so, he was beaten there by McCoy.  No one had, as yet, _called_ McCoy, but somehow he tended to know everything that went on anyway.  And so he walked onto the scene.

Kirk observed him coming, and stopped clutching at his shoulder.  Wouldn't do to have the doctor ask him what had happened.  "Hello, Bones."

"Hi, Jim.  Heard there was trouble with Ensign Jones."

"Yeah, he won't come out of his quarters."  Kirk glanced past McCoy and grinned.  "I see you brought company."  

McCoy looked at him, puzzled.  Kirk pointed behind him, and McCoy looked back.  Sure enough, a small black cat was following him.  McCoy sighed, and scooped him up.

"Surak, what have I told you about staying in Sickbay?" McCoy lectured.

"Mrrr," Surak said cheerfully.

"Expecting a cat to comprehend a complex idea such as 'remain in Sickbay at all times' is not logical."

Kirk definitely didn't say that, which meant Spock had arrived on the scene.

"And just what is so illogical about it?" McCoy challenged him.

Spock regarded him calmly.  "Cats are primitive creatures.  They rely on instinct, not intellect.  Therefore, if the cat's instinct is to roam, he will not grasp that he is safer remaining in Sickbay.  Besides which, cats are not evolved sufficiently to allow for a language.  Therefore he cannot comprehend that you wish him to remain in Sickbay when you tell him that."

"Spock, are you insulting my cat?"

"I am stating scientific fact, Doctor."

"Notice he doesn't use Surak's name while insulting his intelligence," McCoy commented to Kirk.

"Doctor, that is not—"

"What say we do something about Jones, hmm?" Kirk interrupted, fully aware that if he _didn't_ interrupt they could be there all day.

"Right, Jim."

"Yes, Captain.  As I understand it, he has suddenly and for no apparent reason refused to leave his quarters."

"That's right!  And you can't make me!" Jones shouted from behind the door.

"Why?" Spock asked.

"Because I'm not coming out!"

"Actually, I was referring to why you won't come out," Spock clarified.  "I can see where confusion could arise."

"Don't you know what day it is?!" Jones shrieked.

Kirk was mildly insulted.  "I make a log entry every day!  Several times a day!  Of course I know the date!  It's Stardate—"

"Not that kind of day.  Old Earth calendar day.  It's September thirteenth!"

Kirk, Spock, and McCoy looked at each other.

"And…" McCoy prompted.

"It's also Friday!"

They looked at each other again.

"And…" McCoy prompted again.

"It's _Friday the thirteenth_!"

"Don't make me say 'and' again," McCoy warned.

"Friday the thirteenth is bad luck!"

"What do you know.  He's superstitious," Kirk commented.  "But Ensign, there's no _reason_ to think Friday the thirteenth is bad luck."

"Bad things always happen to me on Friday the thirteenth!"  There was a pause.  "Well, bad things happen to me a lot of days, but _still_!"

"There is no logical basis for believing the calendar date affects how events play out," Spock said.

"So what?  It _is_ bad luck."

Spock considered.  "Actually, there _are_ some things science can't explain."

"Spock, if you turn superstitious…"

"I have no intention of doing so, Doctor.  I was simply attempting to consider another side of the matter."

"Never mind the other side," Kirk interjected.  "How do we get him out?"

Spock thought about that.  "The door is locked."

"No, really?"  That came from McCoy.

"Yes, really.  But it may be possible to get into the mechanism and—"

"No explanation necessary," Kirk said, cutting off a long piece of technobabble.  "Just do it."

"Yes, Captain."  

Spock went to work on a panel next to the door, quickly revealing a complex bit of machinery.  Kirk and McCoy, meanwhile, continued talking to Jones.

"This _is_ the twenty-third century, you know," McCoy pointed out.  "Don't you think it's about time superstitions were dropped?"

"Do you think time affects the forces of good and evil?!" Jones shrieked.  "No!  On Friday the thirteenth, _bad stuff happens_!"

"If you're that sure, what makes you think staying in your quarters will help any?" Kirk asked reasonably.

"If I spend the whole day hiding under my bed in my quarters, what can possibly hap—ulp!"  Jones was cut off by the sound of something cracking and a strangled yelp.

Kirk and McCoy looked at each other, mildly concerned.

"Jones?" McCoy asked.

"I'm okay…mostly…"

Kirk looked towards Spock, who was still fiddling with wires.  "Spock, can you get the door—"

The doors slid open.

"Yes, Captain, I believe I can."

Kirk, Spock, McCoy, and Surak peered in.  It looked pretty much like the quarters of all the other crewmembers of low rank who were stationed aboard the Enterprise.  There were, however, two noticeable differences.  One was the fact that the bed along one wall had collapsed, apparently due to a broken leg.  The other was the arm sticking out from under that bed.

Between the three of them, they lifted the bed and hauled Jones out from under it.  Surak watched in fascination, finding the whole business highly entertaining.  McCoy examined Jones, and concluded he was basically fine.  If somewhat bruised.  And dazed.

Jones sat up slowly, and glanced around.  His gaze came to rest on Surak, who was sitting on the floor and looking at him sideways.  Jones panicked, and scrambled to his feet.

"Augh!  Black cat!"

McCoy sighed.  "Why does everyone seem to have something against my cat?"

"Keep it back!  Don't let it cross my path!  Not on the _thirteenth_!"

Jones tried to rush to the door and escape.  In his haste, he managed to trip over his own feet.  In a spectacular move vaguely resembling a swan dive, Jones went crashing to the floor.  "Ow…" he mumbled.

McCoy shook his head, and pulled out his tricorder again.  "You know, I have _really_ got to look into this boy's psych file."

Review, of course!  ^_^  Next chapter: after all these difficult missions, shore leave!  It should be amusing…I feel a strange urge to amuse myself at Spock's expense…


	19. Shore Leave

Disclaimer: Don't own Star Trek, and am also running out of interesting ways to write that…if you don't know by NOW that I don't own Star Trek, I worry.

Starseeker: No, you don't make sense.  But that's okay!  And how many times can you say "very good?"  Well, I can't vouch for other people, but how many before _I'll_ tell you to shut up…pretty much infinite.  ^_^

Infinitys-End: Glad you enjoy, good luck with the toe.  I know, I know, I've kinda ignored Uhura, haven't I?  I'm sorry to everyone in general, I like her well enough, but they never did enough with her on the show and I have trouble figuring how to write her in.  I'll try, okay?

Meredith: Okay, what WAS Random Guy talking about?  Don't understaaaaaand…glad you read and reviewed though, even if I had to read the review twice to figure out what you were talking about.  J

EmpressLeia: Uh…turkeys?

Keridwen: You know the great thing about a lack of plot?  No clear ending!  DEE-lighted you enjoy this!  BTW, I e-mailed if you haven't checked.

Number of the week: 100.  100 reviews, and 100 pages!  (Actually, 105.)  I had no idea I could sustain pure insanity for this long!  You guys keep writing reviews, I'll keep writing pages.  You're the greatest, all of you!

Anyone know the record for reviews by the way?  I'm getting curious.

And now, off to the beach!

Chapter Nineteen:

_Shore_ Leave

_The Enterprise is coming into orbit around a small Federation colony world, where they are dropping supplies:_

Kirk had stopped into Sickbay.  Actually, he'd been dragged in by McCoy.  He'd somehow contrived to take half his annual medical exam, and skip the rest.  In the midst of ranting about Spock and turbolifts, McCoy hadn't noticed when he took the report from the nurse.  He'd discovered the gap a week later while going over the files, collared Kirk, and hauled him in.

Now, final tests complete, McCoy was willing to give Kirk a clean bill of health.  "Except," he qualified, "you do have high blood pressure."

Kirk shrugged.  "Have you ever _not_ told me my blood pressure was too high?"

"Not once."  McCoy went into lecture mode.  "Now Jim, you've got to—"

Kirk interrupted him.  "Spend less time on the bridge, more time relaxing, stop passing up shore leaves, try not to work myself to death, and—above all—listen to you when you warn me about things like this."

McCoy blinked.  He tried to think of a good comeback, and succeeded.  Arguing with Spock honed abilities like that.  "Well.  Clearly you've been listening.  No, you've been _hearing_.  _Listening_ is something else entirely!"

Kirk chuckled.  "I suppose.  Can I skip the next hour?"

"_No_."  An idea occurred to McCoy.  "Or, you can take shore leave."

"Shore leave?"

"Shore leave.  We're coming into orbit around this planet, we're dropping supplies, we're going to be here two days, that's plenty of time for shore leave.  Lots of the crew are going, you should too."

Kirk considered.  "Shore leave."

"It's a nice planet, I hear," McCoy commented.  "Famous for their beaches."

"Beaches are nice," Kirk mused.  "The surf, the sand—"

"The girls," McCoy commented innocently.

Kirk looked at him for a moment, and finally grinned sheepishly.  "Okay, and the girls.  Anyway, maybe I will take the afternoon off and go to the beach."

"An excellent idea," McCoy agreed.

"So where are you going?" Kirk asked.

McCoy immediately found himself in rather deep water.  He hedged.  "Oh, well, I, ah, haven't really decided if, er…"

Kirk pounced on that in about a second and a half.  He looked at McCoy in horror.  "Why, Bones!  _Surely_ you weren't planning to stay on the _ship_?!"

"Now, Jim—"

"You are going to work yourself into a cardiac arrest one day, and _then_ what will the rest of us do?" Kirk lectured.

McCoy glared at him.

"You know what?  I _insist_ you come on shore leave with me.  For your health."

"You're not funny, Jim."

Kirk managed to look pained.  It wasn't easy.  "Here I am, looking out for your welfare, and you accuse me of making jokes.  I'm hurt, Bones."

McCoy rolled his eyes.  "All right, so I'll go to the beach."  Actually, he didn't have any real objections, but felt he ought to put up a token resistance, to maintain his reputation.  "If for no other reason that to make sure _you_ relax."

Kirk nodded wisely.  "Spock would say it's the logical thing to do."

"I'm sure he would," McCoy said sarcastically.  As he did, an idea struck him, and he grinned.  "Saay…let's invite _Spock_ to the beach."

Kirk was doubtful.  "I don't know…Spock at the beach?"

The grin had spread into a full-fledged laugh.  "Do you think Vulcans tan?"

Kirk smiled wryly.  "That definitely falls under the category of things I have _never_ thought about."

McCoy was laughing harder.  "Can—can you see Spock…_frolicking_ amongst the waves?!"

Kirk struggled to maintain a straight face.  "Can't picture it."  [A/N: Go ahead.  Try.  It's very amusing if you can manage it…]

McCoy was clutching a biobed for support.  "_I_ can!"

"We should ask him, just to see what he says," Kirk decided.

To everyone's surprise, Spock said yes.  He thought it could lend a fascinating insight into human culture.

In the end, much of the crew decided to take their leave by the shore, including most of the bridge crew.  Actually, all of the bridge crew.  Kirk, Spock, and McCoy beamed down of course.  McCoy managed to convince (or perhaps threaten into convincing) Scotty that the beach was better than reading technical manuals.  Sulu had heard that there was some rare marine life, and persuaded Chekov to join him.  Uhura decided she would enjoy the beach, and quite a few other crewmembers whose names no one seemed to know decided to come along for kicks.  This emptied both the bridge and the senior crew, leaving one to wonder who was in command.  No one knew.  No one cared.  What could possibly happen?

But never mind about the ship.

The crew spread out upon arrival.  Most of the crewmembers who shall not be named drifted off, together or on their own, to do any variety of beach type things.  Scotty wandered off, explaining he wanted to look at the boardwalk.  Sulu and Chekov went to look for anyone renting scuba gear, or, barring that, surfboards.  Kirk and the rest were in search of a good spot on the beach to sit.

"This looks okay," Kirk said, looking around.  "Good view."  He didn't mention that he was referring to the beach, not the ocean.  Or rather the people on the beach.  Or, to be perfectly specific…well, I'm sure you can work it all out.

"Looks all right to me," Uhura said, setting her stuff down, and sitting on the sand.

Spock seemed less pleased.  "There is a remarkable lack of seaweed in this area."

Kirk blinked.  "That's…bad?"

"The categorizing and researching of seaweed is a most interesting activity," Spock said seriously.

"Um…"

"Perhaps I will investigate on the other side of that ridge," Spock decided, and set off.

"Sure.  You do that."

McCoy seemed equally displeased.  Seaweed had nothing to do with it.  He was a bit suspicious of Scotty.  "The boardwalk, huh?  I don't know…"

Uhura shrugged.  "He wanted to look at the boardwalk.  So what?"

"I think I'll go see if he found anything interesting.  And so help me, if I catch him fixing the Ferris Wheel…"  McCoy stomped off.

"Why don't _you_ relax?!" Kirk called after him.  "You're going to overwork yourself trying to make _us_ relax, and…"

McCoy was ignoring him.  Kirk shrugged, and settled down to do some relaxing.

*  *  *

Scotty came wandering over perhaps twenty minutes later, looking disgruntled.  He sat down next to Uhura, frowning.

"What's the matter?" she asked.  "You look like someone just kicked your engines."

Scotty sighed.  "Dr. McCoy confiscat'd me technical manuals," he complained.

Kirk laughed.  "You shouldn't have even brought 'em.  Bones is relentless about that sort of thing.  _I_ should know."

"An' I was just gettin' to the part about the relay that crosses the transponder, connecting to the left hub of the—"

Uhura pulled him to his feet.  "Come on.  You can buy me an ice cream cone.  I believe there's a shop somewhere on the boardwalk selling them."

"I didn't notice."

"Of course not.  Let's go see."

Scotty and Uhura wandered off up the end of the beach.

*  *  *

Things were quiet around Kirk for a half hour or so longer.  

Well, except for one brief incident.  A certain gentleman was out wading, and suddenly shrieked out "SHARK!"  There was a general disturbance, and another fellow shouted, "I'll save you!" rushed out with a harpoon, and, unfortunately, tripped over a minnow.  He came closer to harpooning himself than the shark, and both men had to be rescued by lifeguards.  Incidentally, the shark turned out to be a foot long and perfectly harmless.  Everyone involved, however, agreed that the minnows proved quite vicious.

But other than that it was quiet.  Then the doctor himself came into view, from over the ridge Spock had gone to investigate.  McCoy came stumbling over the rise, positively shaking with laughter.  Kirk regarded him.  This was going to be either amusing, or problematic.

"Yes?" Kirk said calmly.

"Spock," McCoy managed between laughs, gesturing vaguely over the ridge behind him.  "Spock…he…he's…b…bu…"  It was no use.  He had to sit down, laughing too hard to continue.

"Spock's doing something?" Kirk asked.

McCoy nodded.  "He's b—bu—"  He shook his head, convulsed with laughter.

"I'd love to know what's so uproariously funny," Kirk commented to the beach in general.

McCoy was, unsuccessfully, trying to catch his breath.  It would be awhile.  Fortunately, another source of information was approaching.

Spock topped the rise, and approached Kirk.  He pointedly did not acknowledge McCoy, who was being sent into fresh waves of laughter.

"Captain, will you explain something to me please?" Spock asked, wearing a look of long-suffering dignity.

Kirk looked from Spock, to McCoy, and back again.  "Well…I can try," he said doubtfully.

Spock nodded.  "Thank you.  Precisely what is amusing about building a scale replica of the castle of Lord Byron out of compacted sand?"

"Compacted sand…" Kirk echoed.

"Sand castle!" McCoy gasped.  "He's building a _sand castle_!"

"Why is it you find building a castle out of sand so amusing?" Spock asked.  "It is a common enough activity on beaches."

"It…it's got a moat…and towers…" McCoy told Kirk, between laughs.

"The castle of Lord Byron is well known for its moat and four towers.  It is a fine example of Medieval architecture, a fascinating study."

"But _you_!  A…a sand castle!"  McCoy went on laughing.

Kirk was torn.  On the one hand, Spock's activities were entirely reasonable.  What _was_ funny about building a sand castle anyway?  But on the other hand…well, his mind was insisting on producing a most absurd yet amusing picture of Spock sitting in front of small sand castle with a plastic shovel and pail.

"'A scale replica…of the castle of Lord Byron…out of compacted sand,'" Kirk repeated, and grinned.  "You know what it is?  It's beautifully in character, yet out of character, both at the same time."

"_Exactly_!" McCoy approved.

Spock was puzzled.  "That does not make any logical sense."

Further explanation, however, was not to be had, as Kirk, completely against his will, at last dissolved into hilarity.

"I do not understand humans," Spock said plaintively.  Well, as plaintively as he's likely to get.

Poor Spock…I'll be nicer to him next time.  Which will be up this weekend, God willing and the creeks don't rise.  Okay, don't know where _that_ came from…

Review.  Of course.


	20. Intruder Alert

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek, you don't own Star Trek, it is very possible Rick Berman doesn't own Star Trek…Paramount!  Paramount owns Star Trek!  Everyone clear on this point?

Trekker-T:  Zinc-oxided nose…okay, even I didn't picture that.  Funny!

EmpressLeia (and Nat): Turkeys!  It is all coming clear!  And as far as I know, nobody can picture Spock in the waves without laughing…which is why it is so hugely amusing!

Keridwen: That's okay, use the numbers, I probably stole it off of someone else and just don't remember…kicked out of the computer lab?  Either you laugh loudly or you have crabby administrators.  ^_^  Obviously not Trekkies.

Starseeker: Breathing would be wise…glad I amuse you so.

Well here it is.  "Intruder Alert."  A radical departure from the norm.  In more ways than one.  Features plenty of our dear boys in red.  Heehee…

Chapter Twenty:

Intruder Alert

_An hour or so following the close of our last chapter:_

The Enterprise was currently being run by half the crew.  The other half was on the surface.  No one knew who was in command.  Most of engineering was gone.  The bridge was being manned by junior officers.  So far, no one had noticed that shields were down.

No one on the ship, that is.

On the surface however, at least one person had managed to record this lapse in security.  And was taking advantage.

In a small dark room aboard the Enterprise, one few people went to or knew about yet had some computer consoles in it, an orange pillar of light appeared.  It slowly coalesced into a person, a person beaming in, _completely_ without authorization.  He looked around for a moment, getting his bearings, then stepped silently over to the consoles.  Pulling up a chair, he began working the controls.

It wasn't long before he encountered troubles with the computer's security systems, and was asked to provide authorization.  He paused, thinking.  Then keyed a single command.

The silence was shattered by a siren, the darkness by flashing red lights.  "Intruder alert!  Intruder alert!" the intercom shouted.

"Something tells me," the intruder said, "that I pressed the wrong button."

*  *  *

In a different and better-lighted section of the ship, Jones and Simmons were walking down a corridor.

"Now that's what I call a shore leave," Jones said sarcastically.  "_Really_ relaxing!"

"Oh what are you complaining about?" Simmons said irritably.

Jones stopped short.  "What am I complaining about?  What am _I_ complaining about?!  I got chased by a shark!"

"It was a foot long!"

"It was still a shark!"

"Big deal.  I got attacked by minnows!"

"Oh gee.  Minnows.  Scaaaary!"

"I'll have you know—"

They were interrupted by red alert sirens.  Klaxons clanged.  Red lights flashed.  Jones and Simmons looked at each other.

A voice came over the intercom.  A rather young voice who didn't seem to know what he was doing.  "Um…we seem to have an intruder alert…repeat, intruder alert…I guess security contingents, um, 4 through 6 to…conference room 3…yeah, conference room 3."  Clearly, whoever usually made announcements was on shore leave.

"That's us, isn't it?" Jones said nervously.

"Yeah."

"Great.  As if the day wasn't already going wonderfully!"

"We better go."

Jones and Simmons ran down the corridor, headed towards Conference Room 3.

*  *  *

Thirty or so security guards milled about the conference room.  No one was quite sure who should be in charge, as the highest-ranking officers seemed to be (can you guess?) on shore leave.  They finally wound up with a fellow named Smith directing things, primarily because he had been on the bridge when the alert came through, and had at least a vague idea of what was going on.

"Now, it's like this," Smith began.  "Someone beamed into a room on Deck Seven, accessed a computer, and set off a security alert.  The computers have automatically closed off the area, so all we have to do is go in there and get whoever it is.  Do I have any volunteers?"

There was a murmur.  No one seemed to like the idea of going in after the intruder.

"Come on!" Smith said.  "_Somebody's_ got to do it!  What would the Captain do?"  A hand shot up out of the crowd.  Smith seemed surprised.  "Ensign Jones?  Are you volunteering?"

"Yes, sir!  I am volunteering to go get the Captain!"

Another hand shot up.  "I volunteer to go with him!" Simmons seconded.

Smith shook his head.  "No, we talked to the Captain before the alert went out, and we mustn't disturb him.  He's dealing with trouble on the planet."

"What sort of trouble?" someone asked.

Smith frowned.  "Well, it was an open comm, so Captain Kirk used code.  He said he had 'blonde trouble.'  We're not sure yet quite what that means.  May have something to do with the governing structure in the local area, as he also mentioned that Dr. McCoy and Mr. Spock were 'building a sand castle.'  Code, obviously."

There was a murmur.  Obviously code.  Something of the greatest significance of course.  Couldn't disturb the captain.  That didn't settle what they were going to do though.

Smith decided that.  "I think we really only need three people to deal with this.  And since you were so eager to get the captain, Simmons, Jones, surely you won't mind accompanying me to get the intruder.  Everyone else can return to their posts."

The other guards scattered, eager to get out before anyone changed their minds regarding who should go.  Jones and Simmons walked reluctantly over to Smith.

"You know, I don't know if I'm a good choice…" Jones said.  "I'm not good at, uh, stuff like this."

Smith stared at him.  "You're a security guard, man!"

"Well, yeah, but…"

"No buts!  We must catch the intruder!" Smith said enthusiastically.  "It is our duty!"

Simmons sighed philosophically.  "Well…we all have to go sometime."

Picking up phasers at the door, the three set out to catch the intruder.  Whoever he was.

*  *  *

Meanwhile on the beach…

Kirk did indeed have blonde trouble.  Primarily, he couldn't tell them apart.  The blondes, I mean.

"Now let me see," he said to the blonde on his right, "_you're_ Melissa."

She giggled.  "No, no, no!  _She's_ Melissa."  She pointed to her twin, sitting on Kirk's left.

"And _she's_ Clarissa," added Melissa.

Kirk looked from one to the other, and shook his head.  "It's no use.  I still can't tell you two girls apart."  He smiled winningly.  "You're just equally beautiful."

The girls giggled appreciatively.  "Oh Captain, you say the sweetest things!" said Clarissa.  Or was it Melissa?

"You know what?" Kirk decided, "you'll just have to stick around for awhile until I've learned to figure out which is which.  Nothing like an educational shore leave!"

Not too far off, Spock and McCoy had their own problems.  They were deep in an architectural debate.

"I still think we should put an archway here," McCoy said.

Spock sighed faintly.  "I told you, Doctor.  It would not be structurally sound."

"I happen to recall that arches are a very strong structure," McCoy countered.

"Not when one is building in _sand_."

Despite the fact that they had managed to debate over pretty much every detail, the jointly built sand castle was coming along nicely.  They were currently deciding whether or not to put an archway between the two towers on the eastern side of the castle.

"Spock, have you no sense of the artistic?" McCoy asked.  "All we'd have to do is poke out a little space here and…uh-oh."

He had been putting actions to words, and beginning the arch.  A fairly sizable portion of the wall collapsed.

"I am aware that a crumbled wall is not especially artistic," Spock said blandly.

McCoy scowled.  "You didn't say it would _collapse_."

"And precisely what _did_ you think 'not structurally sound' meant, Doctor?"

But enough frivolity.  Back to the intruder alert.

Smith, Jones, and Simmons were on deck seven, just outside the network of corridors and rooms that the computer had blocked off.  Actually, they were _stopped_ just outside the section.  Disagreeing.

"I still think there's got to be a better way to do this," Jones argued.

"And _I_ think we can handle this," Simmons countered.  "There's three of us and only one of them.  We can take 'em easy!"

Simmons was doubtful.  "It seems like an awfully risky way to go about it."

"Risky?  Risky?!"  Simmons eyebrows shot upwards.  "Haven't you ever heard the Captain?  Risks are our business!  When man first looked at the stars—"

"I don't know about the _Captain's_ business," Jones interrupted, "but right now caution looks like an _excellent_ business proposition."

"Good grief!  What are we, men or mice?!  We're _security guards_!" Smith exploded.  "So let's _secure_!"  With that, he keyed a code and opened the door into the next corridor, which was, of course, within the security lock-down section.  Without looking back, Smith strode down the hall.

Jones and Simmons looked at each other.

"We should go with him," Simmons sighed.

Jones grimaced.  "Oh all right."

They jogged after Smith, and the three walked through the corridors, towards the room where the computer's sensors located the intruder.  Whoever he was.  It wasn't a long way, and they were soon standing before the critical door.

"All right, all at once," Smith said with determination.  "We'll open the door, and rush him together."

Jones and Simmons nodded grimly.

"'And into the valley of death, rode the six hundred,'" Jones quoted bleakly.

"Now cut that out!" Smith snapped.  "So here we go, on three.  One…two…_three_!"

[smiles sweetly]  Next chapter up…_soon_.


	21. The Intruder

Disclaimer: Don't own Star Trek, Simmons is Starseeker's, Jones and Smith are mine.  MINE!

Golden Tiger: Wow.  I think that was almost well rounded.  Thank you for your kind words.  ^_^

EmpressLeia: Yeah, finishing your cliffhanger _would_ be pleasant…good luck cleaning your screen, heehee.

Ruanek: yep, Twilight Zone.

Keridwen: Hello?  You alive out there?  Well, if you're not still sobbing in the corner, allow me to comment: You left McCoy in the cell for over TWO MONTHS, but I'M devil spawn?  I am seeing a double standard here… : )

Starseeker: Oh no.  Not _you_ of course…although currently the _Enterprise_, the turbolift, and Kirk's life force are all plummeting!  BAD!

Well, well.  The cliffhanger seems to have ticked a few people off…devil spawn, pure evil…if I could just explain to my friends why it's FUN to be called these things…I mean, you meant it as warmly as possible, right?  Right?  Guys?  Wait, wait, no violence!  See!  See!  I'm posting!  Read, don't kill!

Chapter Twenty-One:

The Intruder

_When last we saw them, security guards Jones, Simmons, and Smith were about to rush into a room and attempt to capture an intruder.  Whoever he was.  As we return to the story…_

The doors slid open, and Smith, Jones and Simmons rushed in.  Unfortunately, They didn't quite take into account that the doorway, just possibly, wasn't as wide as it, perhaps, should be for this sort of maneuver.  Jones, on the right, managed to bang into Smith, in the middle, and Simmons, on the left, veered to avoid the tangle and crashed into the side of the doorway.  After a brief bit of pushes and accusations, they sprawled very untidily across the entryway.  Had the light brigade gone in like this, no one would've written a poem about it.  As it was, our gallant security men were pretty much at the mercy of whoever happened to be on the other side.

"Well, well, well.  If it isn't Kirk's valiant boys in red," the intruder said cheerfully, grinning at them.

"I'm going to arrest you," Smith's muffled voice came from the pile, "just as soon as Jones gets his foot off my head."

"Oh.  Sorry," Jones said, trying to extricate himself.

Simmons pulled himself out of the pile, never having gotten quite as mixed up as the other two.  He reached for his phaser, and encountered empty air.

"Looking for this?" the intruder asked pleasantly, tossing a phaser from hand to hand.  

Two more were on the floor near his feet.  The guards had, quite sensibly, drawn their phasers when they charged.  Unfortunately, they had dropped them when they crashed.  Simmons sighed.  This had just gotten a lot harder.

Jones and Smith, by now, though not without trouble, had managed to sort themselves out.  They looked at Simmons.  He looked back.  Smith nodded, and they jumped for the intruder.

"Wait, wait!  I can explain!" the intruder shrieked as he went down.  They didn't listen.

Jones and Simmons got hold of the phasers, while Smith grappled with the intruder, who, frankly, wasn't much of a fighter.  Jones and Simmons reacted out of instinct, and fired wildly.  Things looked promising.  Except that none of the three of them had coordinated their attacks with particular care.

When the dust settled, Smith and the intruder were both lying unconscious on the floor.  Jones and Simmons stared at the bodies.

"Do you know what we just did?" Simmons asked, shocked.

"Yeah," Jones said bleakly.  "We just stunned our mission leader."

"No, not _that_!  We stopped the intruder!  US!  Alone!  Without the Captain, or Mr. Spock, or any commanding officer!"

Jones thought about that.  "Saaay…"

"Has this ever happened before?  To ANY security guards?!"

"I seriously doubt it."  Jones beamed.  "I think we just made history!"

"Wait till the Captain hears about _this_!"

*  *  *

In due time, all the crewmembers from shore leave returned to the ship, including the commanding officers.  Kirk, Spock, and McCoy were greeted in the transporter room by Simmons and Jones (Smith was in Sickbay, having only just woken up from being stunned), who had startling news.

Kirk blinked.  "You caught an intruder?!"

Jones and Simmons beamed.  "That's right, Captain!"

"All on your own?"

They nodded.

"You didn't bring one of the bridge crew up to help?"

They shook their heads.

"Completely on your own?  No help?  You stopped an intruder?"  Kirk seemed to be having trouble grasping the idea.

"We sure did, sir!" Simmons said proudly.

"Fascinating," Spock mused.

"It's definitely new," McCoy commented.

"And no one got killed?" Kirk persisted.  "No one died?"

"No, sir!"  Jones paused to think about it, and winced.  "Well, we did knock Smith out, but no lasting damage."

"You stopped an intruder.  Without help.  Three security guards.  And no one died."  Kirk put a hand to his forehead and said faintly, "Someone get me a chair, I need to sit down.  The whole ship's turned upside-down on me."

Spock seemed disturbed by this statement.  Well, actually, he didn't _seem_ disturbed, being Spock, but he was disturbed.  Mildly.  "Captain, the artificial gravity has not in any way—"

"_Spock_…"

"Yes, Captain?"

"Don't, Spock."

"Yes, Captain."

"Well…congratulations," Kirk said finally.  "We'll mention it in your records."

"Thank you, sir!" they chorused.

"So Captain, did you handle the 'blonde trouble?'" Jones asked.

Kirk had to think about that for a moment.  "The blonde…oh!  Um…that's… confidential!  Yeah.  Confidential.  What say we go look at the intruder?"

Still in the haze of glory from their recent triumph, Jones and Simmons were nothing if not agreeable.  "Yes, sir."

"He's in the brig," Simmons volunteered.

"I would imagine so.  Want to come, Spock, Bones?"

"No thanks, Jim.  I should go down to Sickbay, make sure the cat's been fed," McCoy said.

"How about you, Spock?"

"No, thank you.  I need to return to my quarters for a shower.  I seem to have sand in my hair," Spock said, completely straight-faced.

McCoy's face was somewhat less straight.  "Spock…sand…hair…"  He burst into laughter.

Spock regarded him calmly.  "Doctor, perhaps you should prescribe something for these fits you keep taking."

McCoy shook his head, and walked out of the transporter room, still laughing, mumbling something about sandy hair.

"Most inexplicable," Spock commented.  "I should also be going."  And he too exited.

"Well that leaves us to go to the brig," Kirk said.

"Yes, sir!"

"So have you figured out yet _who_ it is you nabbed?"

"Well, he says his name is…"

*  *  *

"_Harry Mudd_."  Kirk shook his head.  "Why am I _not_ surprised?"

They were down in the brig, standing in front of one of the cells, where Harcourt Fenton Mudd was indeed being held.

"Captain Kirk!  DE-lighted to see you!" Harry said cheerfully.

"What do you think you're doing on my ship?"

Harry ignored the question.  "So pleasant to talk to someone in authority.  These subordinate officers simply will not listen to my explanations regarding—"

"_Harry_.  What are you doing here?!"

"At the moment?  Sitting in one of these cells.  I'm sure we can change that though, if you just let me—"

"I have doubts, Harry."

"But you have no right to hold me!  You don't have any charges on me!" Harry protested.

"You beamed aboard without authorization," Kirk pointed out.

"Aside from that!  You can't accuse me of any—"

"You tried to hack into the computer system!"

"But I didn't _do_ it."

"Only because you caused a security breach and the computers blocked you out."

"Well, if you're going to nitpick regarding _details_…I _still_ didn't break into the computer."

"Well…technically no.  But—"

"In which case I demand to be released!"  Harry's attempt at bravado was somewhat lost behind the flickering forcefield.

Kirk considered.  "All right, Harry.  IF I find out you didn't do anything illegal while on board my ship, and IF it turns out beaming aboard without authorization doesn't warrant time in the brig, and IF there are no outstanding warrants for your arrest, THEN I'll let you out."

Harry beamed.  "That's princely of you, Kirk, just princely."

*  *  *

Later, on the bridge:

"You're kidding me," Kirk said bleakly.

"I am a Vulcan.  I—"

"Don't kid.  We _know_, Spock!" McCoy snapped.

"You're sure the Federation isn't charging him with _anything_?" Kirk asked, for at least the second time.

"I told you, Captain," Spock said patiently.  "I have looked up the record of 'Mudd, Harcourt Fenton,' on the computer and all charges have been dropped."

"Wish I knew who he bribed to pull _that_ off," Kirk muttered.

"And beaming aboard without authorization isn't enough to keep him in the brig?" McCoy asked.  For the third time.

Spock sighed inwardly.  Why did humans have to hear things two or three times to believe them?  A most illogical penchant of the species.  "No, Doctor, beaming aboard without authorization does not result in time in the brig, as he has not, apparently, done anything detrimental since beaming aboard.  He will, however, be fined 143 credits for failing to receive authorization to come aboard."

"We know he was trying to hack into the computer though," McCoy pointed out.

"It does seem extremely likely that, given what we know of Mr. Mudd and what he was attempting to access in the computer system, he was intending to give himself a false identity as a member of Starfleet, with access to a Starfleet bank account.  Technically, though, he did not _do_ any of these things."

"And since he didn't, technically, hack into the computer and he didn't, technically, start the fight with our security guards, I, technically, have no reason to keep him in the brig.  And since we left orbit three hours ago, we're stuck with him."  Kirk sighed.  "Bones, what have you got for headaches?"

"A few things.  Why, have you got one?"

"No, but I'm anticipating a real head-splitter."

Everyone happy now?  No cliffhanger!  For now anyway…Bwahahahahah!

Do be nice and review. 


	22. Technically Speaking

Disclaimer: Don't own Star Trek, am REALLY running out of funny ways to say that.

C'thia: [sigh] Do hate to lose readers through death.  But hey, laughing oneself to death has to be a fun way to go!

Meredith: Heehee…I get the feeling you liked these chapters.  ^_^  Price is Right…intriguing.

Ruanek: Whaaaat?  You're upset because there _wasn't_ a cliffhanger?  Outrage right back at you!  Clearly any goals of making every reader happy just went out the window.  Oh, and BWAHAHAHAHAHAH!

EmpressLeia: You thought it was 'poor Kirk' last chapter…read on, read on.

Keridwen: Hiccups…ooh, that could be interesting…

Rihannsu (formerly Starseeker formerly Stargazer formerly Ensign Expendable): Of course politically correct.  Of vital importance.  =D  

Trekker-t: Whoa, wait a sec.  Nothing illegal?  This must be clear!  Only _technically_ not illegal!  Barely within the letter of the law!  _Barely_!  As you shall soon see…  By the way, I am thoroughly flattered by your final line.  : )

So sorry, my dear readers, at the length of time this took!  Between writer's block and homework…ARGH!  But that's okay!  New chapter!  The continuing adventures of Harry Mudd aboard the _Enterprise_…

Chapter Twenty-Two:

Technically Speaking…

_Because, technically, he can do nothing else, Captain Kirk has released Harry Mudd from the brig.  Meaning that he is somewhere at large on the ship.  And it seems there will be trouble rectifying that:_

Kirk was keeping a stranglehold on his self-control, and contented himself with saying, "Admiral, I don't think you quite understand."  He was in his quarters, talking via subspace communications to Admiral Stufshertt, Starfleet Command, Earth.  "All I am proposing is that we backtrack to the planet, drop off Harry Mudd, and then continue our mission to Rhenium VI."

Admiral Stufshertt was being difficult.  "No, I don't think that would be good, not good at all.  Those supplies you're carrying need to get to the colony as soon as possible.  Of the utmost importance, you understand."

"We have a cargo hold full of pineapples!"

"The colonists on Rhenium VI take their fruit very seriously," Admiral Stufshertt said severely.

Kirk took a breath.  "Yes.  I know.  However, my science officer estimates the detour would take only 5 hours, 46 minutes, and 16 seconds, so—"

"I don't think the colonists would be pleased about waiting an extra 6 hours for their fruit," Admiral Stufshertt decided.  "Surely, Captain Kirk, you can handle a civilian aboard ship for the three days it will take you to reach the colony.  Give him a tour, keep him happy, you can put him on another ship at Rhenium VI, and they will take him home.  No problem at all."  And with that, the admiral signed off.

"Right.  No problem," Kirk echoed faintly.  Just like a tribble was no problem.  Or a goose.  Or a crazed Klingon with a bat'leth.

For a wild moment, Kirk considered disobeying orders and going back anyway.  And then for an equally wild minute, he thought about bypassing the trip back and tossing Harry out an airlock right here.

He really couldn't do either of those though.  He would simply have to stick it out.  Somehow.

*  *  *

Passing by the open door to Rec Room 3, Spock heard some very strange sounds.  First there was a rattling as of two small objects being shaken together, then a clatter, rather as though the small objects had hit the floor, a call of "Snake eyes!" from a reasonably familiar voice, and a general murmur of displeasure, from a crowd of perhaps half a dozen.  Spock decided it might be wise to investigate.  He entered, and stood near the door, unnoticed by the people present.

There were indeed half a dozen crewmembers there, gathered in a half circle with none other than Harry Mudd at the center.  They seemed to be involved in some sort of game involving dice, and were apparently betting money based on the numbers that came up.  A rather pointless way to spend one's salary, Spock felt.

Apparently one of the crewmembers had just rolled the pair of dice across the floor, and come up with two ones, which seemed to be a bad thing.  Now Harry Mudd was rolling.  He was doing much better than the crew, judging by the dark looks shot in his direction.  Spock watched for several throws before interrupting.

"Mr. Mudd, you are cheating," Spock said calmly.

Harry and at least five of the six crewmembers went white upon the realization that the first officer had been watching.  Harry pulled himself together the fastest.

"Why, Mr. Spock, I am insulted!" Harry blustered.  "How dare you accuse me—"

"You just rolled a three and a four six times in succession."

"Skill!" Harry declared.

"This is a game of chance," Spock pointed out.

"Luck," Harry said, changing tack with remarkable speed.

"Perhaps.  However, the odds against you are astronomical."

"Have you never heard of Lady Luck?"

"Whoever she is, I do not see how she could help you prevail against odds of…if you will give me a moment to calculate."  Spock stared into space for precisely 2.3 seconds.  "The odds against you are two billion, one-hundred seventy-six million, seven-hundred eighty-two thousand, three-hundred thirty-six.  To one."  [A/N: Assuming I've done the math correctly.]

The statement effectively ended the game.  Though Spock would have done _that_ anyway.

*  *  *

"A crap game?  He was running a _crap game_?!"  Captain Kirk was not pleased.

"Running, playing, and cheating," Spock noted.  He was on the bridge, and had just concluded reporting on Harry's latest activities.

"The man is a menace to all decent society," Kirk fumed.  He brightened after a moment though.  "We've got a regulation against gambling in space.  I can toss him in the brig now and be done wi—"  Spock was shaking his head.  "What?"

"I have already marked the infraction in the records of the crewmembers involved in the game, incidentally.  As for Harry, however, as he is a civilian he cannot be held responsible for our regulations if he has not been formally informed of them.  He has now been warned, but, technically, we cannot hold him for this instance."

"Technically, _technically_!  I am beginning to hate that word," Kirk grumbled.

"That is not logical," Spock observed.

"This may shock you, Mr. Spock, but that doesn't bother me in the least."

Spock decided to refrain from commenting that _that_ wasn't logical either.

"Harry, now.  _Harry_ bothers me.  You know what?" Kirk decided, "I don't care if we don't, technically, have anything on him.  He's Harry Mudd.  He's done _something_.  I'll toss him in the brig now and worry about charging him later."

"Starfleet will not be pleased if you place a civilian in the brig without apparent cause," Spock pointed out.

"Starfleet will survive," Kirk said dismissively.  "They always do.  I'll defeat a Klingon ship or two next week, keep 'em happy.  Today, though, Harry is going into the brig and—"

"I advise against this course of action, Captain," Spock said.

That drew Kirk up short.  He generally made a point to listen to Spock, as Spock generally knew what he was talking about.  "Okay.  Why _shouldn't_ I toss him in the brig, where he _clearly_ belongs?"

"Starfleet is already displeased with you.  They were rather upset when you diverted to the Guardian of Forever two weeks ago."

"They allowed that afterwards," Kirk countered.

"They were still not pleased.  Nor did you gain any popularity by threatening to defect to the Romulans last week."

"Starfleet is too sensitive," Kirk muttered.

"Both instances are merely the latest in a long list.  Putting a civilian in the brig could result in severe ramifications.  The proverbial, 'straw that broke the camel's back,' I believe humans might say."

"So the point is, I put Harry in the brig, they're liable to put _me_ in the brig."

"Nothing so drastic most likely, but, technically, that is correct."

Kirk threw up his hands.  "Fine!  Give him the run of the ship!  Why not?!  But when we crash into a sun, Starfleet just better not complain about the cost of a starship to _me_!"

*  *  *

Things were quiet in Sickbay.  Peaceful.  Most likely because none of the command personnel were currently in need of medical attention.  McCoy could usually bully any other crewmember into listening to him.  So things were quiet.  Such was not the case in the corridor outside Sickbay, as the medical personnel discovered the next time someone entered, and the general noise and hubbub entered with them.

McCoy was prepared to ignore the whole thing, go on with his work, and assume that whatever was happening in the corridor would sort itself out.  But then he recognized what was by far the loudest voice, and changed his mind.  It was Harry Mudd.  And Harry Mudd, inevitably and always, meant trouble.  McCoy decided it might be wise to investigate before things got too far out of hand.

Out in the corridor, Harry was standing next to a large crate of glass bottles, which were filled with a murky blue liquid.  He had gathered quite a crowd, and seemed to be giving a speech.

"Come one, come all!" Harry was shouting.  "Be the first ones to gain access to the latest development in medical science!"

McCoy leaned against the edge of the doorway.  This should, if nothing else, prove entertaining.

"I am currently the sole proprietor of this new substance, which I have humbly named 'Mudd's Miracle Serum.'  I guarantee, it will cure what ails you, for an unbelievably low price!"

"Can we get some specifics on what it cures?" someone in the crowd asked.

"What have you got?" Harry asked in return.

"What does it cure?" the crewmember countered.

"Whatever you have, it _will_ cure it!  Backache, gout, tennis elbow, xenopolycythemia…whatever you've got, 'Mudd's Miracle Serum' is the answer!"

"That is, without a doubt, the most scientifically bogus statement I have _ever_ heard," McCoy broke in dryly.

Harry seemed a little taken aback upon the realization that the chief medical officer had been listening.  Senior crewmembers coming up behind him was becoming uncomfortably frequent.  He, as always, recovered quickly.

"Why Doctor McCoy!  Are you doubting the validity of my statement?  Surely you are open to new advancements in medicine."

McCoy was about to retort with 'Not when they come from crooks like you,' but thought of a better idea.  "You know, Harry, maybe you _have_ got something here.  And if so, wouldn't you like to have an actual medical school graduate examine your, ah, serum?"

"Oh…well, I…don't think that's necessary, you see—"

"What's the matter, Harry?  Hiding something?  Surely there's no reason you wouldn't want me doing some analysis?"

There were murmurs in the crowd.  "Yeah, Harry, whatcha hiding?  Maybe we shouldn't buy into this…"

Harry saw his prospective customers rapidly losing any faith in him.  "Hiding something?  No, no, I couldn't be more willing!  How much do you need for your analysis, Doctor?"

McCoy smiled.  "How much have you got?"

"Three gallons, in eight-ounce bottles.  Perhaps only—"

"Three gallons sounds about right," McCoy decided. "I'll just take the whole crate, and see what I can discover."

"All of it?"

"Of course.  And anyway, I _couldn't_ let you sell any on the _Enterprise_ until I'm sure it's _exactly_ what you're claiming it is."

"Well…I suppose.  If you insist."

"I do."

*  *  *

"So do you want to hear what Harry did this afternoon?" McCoy asked Kirk over dinner that evening in the Mess Hall.

"No, I really don't," Kirk snapped.

McCoy waited.

Kirk sighed.  "All right, give it to me straight, I can take it."

McCoy related the events of the afternoon to a somewhat less than happy Kirk.  But there was a bright spot.

"So what was in the serum anyway?  Anything illegal?" Kirk asked hopefully.

McCoy shook his head.  "Nah.  I analyzed it and found out it was basically sugar water and food coloring."

"Nothing even _faintly_ medicinal?"  Kirk grinned.  "We've got him then!  I'll accuse him of false advertising!  He was marketing and selling sugar water as medicine which it is not and—"  McCoy looked doubtful.  Kirk frowned.  "_What_?"

"Well, I'm a doctor not a lawyer, but I think the imperative point is 'and selling.'  And I stopped him before he sold anything.  It's a technicality, but…"

"I'll arrest him anyway and send him to the brig and then Starfleet will be upset and it won't work after all so never mind."

McCoy blinked.  "That was quite a bit of thinking out loud there."

Kirk shrugged.  "You know what the real problem here is?"

"Harry?" McCoy guessed.

"Nah, all this mess with Harry is just an offshoot of the _real_ trouble."

"And that would be?"

"I haven't done anything heroic recently.  Not on a large scale anyway.  Really, what have our missions been lately?  Studying plants.  Riding airplanes.  Ferrying ambassadors.  Delivering _fruit_.  Nothing _important_.  Do you know how long it's been since someone fired on us?  Months!"

"And this is bad?"

"Remind me to save a planet next week," Kirk said, rather the way anyone else might comment on remembering to buy eggs at the store.  "If I do something really impressive Starfleet'll be happy and leave me alone for a month at least, and then I can throw anybody I want into the brig without Command batting an eye."

*  *  *

A new day was dawning on the Enterprise.  Kirk did not take to it well.  Harry was still on the ship, still out of the brig, probably still causing havoc, and there was absolutely nothing he, Kirk, could—technically—do about it.  Not a pleasant thought to start the day with.

Second thought was something of an improvement though.  Second thought was that he ought to stop by the ship's gym on the way to the bridge.  The security department, while very proud of their recent capture of Harry, was a little embarrassed regarding the accidental stunning of Smith.  As such, they were setting up a special morning of target practice in the gym.  Hopefully this would improve their odds in the future of hitting the enemy.  Not each other.

Entering the gym, all appeared to be as it should be.  Lots of men in red shirts milling around, a line of old-fashioned bulls-eye targets along one wall.  A few people were lined up with phasers, firing at the targets across the way.  Kirk let his eyes stray to the along the line of people firing, and stopped on the farthest.  He froze.

The last one in the line was not in a red shirt.  Or any other shade of Starfleet uniform.  It was, of course, Harry Mudd.  With a phaser.  Kirk headed there and something just short of a run.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Kirk said tensely.

"Oh, hello, Kirk," Harry said.  Yet _another_ senior officer sneaking up on him.  This was becoming intolerable!  He wasn't doing anything even faintly illegal though.  Therefore, he was completely calm.  "I'm just doing a little target practice here.  That _is_ the point, isn't it?"

"Harry, put down the phaser," Kirk said in more than a little alarm.

"Nonsense, Kirk.  I'm an old pro at this."

"Harry, _put down_ the phaser!"

"Ridiculous.  Just let me fire at this target across the way, you'll see…"  Harry took aim, and fired.

By pure chance, a certain Ensign Jones happened to be standing near the targets.  Just as Harry was aiming, Jones decided perhaps he should move.  He walked towards the group at the opposite end, staying on the edge of a direct line to the targets.

Harry's aim wasn't nearly as good as he claimed it was.  Rather than hitting the target, he hit Jones.  Who dropped to the floor.  

There was silence.  Broken quickly by Kirk.

"I knew it, I _knew_ it!" Kirk snapped, snatching the phaser away from Harry.  "_One_ shot!  One lousy shot, and you manage to…hit…someone…"  A rather strange expression came over Kirk.  A toss-up between delight and fury.  "Harry…do you know what you just did?"

"Purely by accident, Kirk, _purely_ by accident, I—"

"You just stunned a member of my crew," Kirk said pleasantly.

"Perhaps so, but—"

"You fired a phaser, without provocation, at a member of _my_ crew," Kirk said with continued pleasantry.

"Technically, yes."  The words were Harry's undoing.  "However—"

"Technically, Harry?  _Technically_?"  Kirk grinned.  "Do you know what I'm going to technically do to you?"

Harry sighed.  "I do have some suspicions."

"I am going to, technically, toss you into the brig and, technically, throw away the key!"

"I will appeal this!" Harry threatened.

"Ah, but at the moment, I, technically, have sufficient reason to keep you in the brig.  I'm sure Starfleet will agree.  I can't allow you out unless you win an appeal, which will be at the next Starbase we come to.  And until then…"

Security guards were brought to the scene, and Kirk personally escorted Harry down to his cell.  As an after thought, someone called Sickbay to take care of Jones.

*  *  *

Kirk came strolling onto the bridge shortly later.  Spock observed that Kirk appeared to be in an excellent frame of mind, and commented upon such.

"You know, Spock, I am.  I _really_ am," Kirk said cheerfully.  "My day is looking up.  My whole _week_ has improved!"

"And precisely what led to this sudden change in outlook?" Spock asked.

Kirk beamed.  "Harry shot a phaser at Ensign Jones!"

Spock looked at him for a moment.  "I see," he said, then returned to his science station, proving that Vulcans can, technically, lie.

Next chapter should be a wee bit…zanier, shall we say…up as soon as humanly possible!


	23. Surfing the Net

Disclaimer:  Well, I've been thinking about that.  And if you look at it right, the question at hand isn't whether I own Star Trek or not, but whether I'm using Star Trek in violation of all copyright laws and without the permission of Paramount.  And my answer is…I refuse to answer that.  I'm an American citizen!  I know my rights!  Fifth amendment!  I refuse to state whether or not I own Star Trek on the grounds that it may incriminate me!  So THERE!

Lt. Vulcan: Really?  That's where your bookmark is?  I'm honored.  Also flattered.  Also pleased that your sister isn't dead.  (Under the Fifth Amendment, I also refuse to discuss my exact involvement in the deaths of any of my readers.)

Ruanek: That was a cliffhanger?  Well, if it makes you happy…

Sonar: Uh…attack of the Trekkie fans…?  Whaaa…?  Um, run, Chekov, RUN!

Rihannsu: Put harddrive together?  Yeek.

Trekker-T: Hmm…Spock vs. Harry at chess.  Y'know what'd happen there?  Twenty moves or less, Spock would have Harry in check.  Then Harry would 'accidentally' knock the board over.  Assuming Harry didn't cheat right from the _start_.

Emp: Well…he kinda saved the day.  It was a very red-shirty way to do it though.  I appreciate the difficulties in getting on FF at school.  Happens to me all the time.  Everybody wants to know what's funny, and if you try to explain it they just don't get it.

Keridwen: Who, me?  Get out of everyone's league?  Me?  [_long_ laugh] I'm flattered you think so though…um, just checking, do you _read_ the stories _you_ post?  _Me_, out of league?  Hah.

That covers all the notes I believe.  You keep reviewing, I keep writing notes, that's just how it works.  =)

I am SOOO sorry it took me forever to post this time, I've got another story up, go read it.  BUT, I WILL keep up with "React" and, hey, I'm still on the first page of FF, so that's not SO bad.  Anyway, new chapter up now (you knew that though, didn't you?)

And it's that time again.  Yes, our dear characters are on FF once more.  They read the following stories:

Primarily:

"The Real McCoy" by Rihannsu; currently 17 chapters

"Everyone Goes Nuts" by me; currently 2 chapters

"Mount Olympus" by Charmega; currently 5 chapters

Also references to:

"Henoch's Revenge" also by Charmega

"Shade" also by Rihannsu

"Best Laid Plans" _also_ also by Rihannsu

(How I wound up referring to things by only two people I really couldn't say, it just kinda happened.)

Okay, the actual story commences here:

Chapter Twenty-Three:

Surfing the Net

_The day following the incarceration of Harry Mudd, Kirk went missing.  Not **really** missing, although that does happen frequently enough.  It was just that he wasn't on the bridge or in his quarters, and McCoy got to wondering where he **was**.  Asking Spock offered nothing of use, except another person interested in looking.  They eventually found Kirk down in Rec Room Three:_

"So _there_ you are!" McCoy said.

Kirk looked up from the computer screen he'd been looking at.  "Something wrong with being here?"

McCoy shrugged, and took a seat on Kirk's right, while Spock sat down on Kirk's left.  "Nothing wrong with it," McCoy said.  "Spock and I've been looking for you is all."

"Oh.  Well, I've been down here for a while.  Figured now that Harry's in the brig, I can relax a little."

McCoy blinked.  "Say that again."

"Now that Harry's in the brig I can relax—"

McCoy shook his head.  "Astounding.  Absolutely astounding.  Spock, remind me to make a note in my log.  This is a historic day."

Kirk sighed, having caught on by now.  Spock was still somewhat in the dark.

"As far as I know, Doctor, nothing of particular significance to history has occurred today."

"Jim's relaxing!  _Voluntarily_!  It's inconceivable!"

"All right, Bones.  That's enough."

"Well you have to admit, you don't do this often," McCoy pointed out.

Kirk objected.  "I went on shore leave only three days ago."

"After I coerced you into it," McCoy countered.

"Fascinating," Spock commented.

They looked at him.  "What is?" Kirk asked.

"The first instance of this topic between you two that I can recall occurred 3.2 years ago.   It has continued at varying intervals since, virtually without change, which seems to indicate it lacks any productive purpose.  I find this fascinating, or at the very least interesting."

"He remembers the first time you berated me about relaxing," Kirk said faintly.  "_I_ don't remember the first time!"

"Jim, this is _Spock_," McCoy reminded him.

Kirk nodded.  "That would explain it."

Spock decided to refrain from asking how the fact of his being himself, a fact the Captain knew well, could possibly explain anything.

"Well, never mind.  Who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth?"

"A gift horse?" Spock asked.

"Yes, Spock.  A gift horse," McCoy said.  "So what are you doing anyway, Jim?"

"Not much.  Surfing.  On the internet," he added, forestalling any comments from Spock regarding the necessity of water to surf.

McCoy frowned suddenly.  "Jim, you're not on _that_ site again, are you?"  He leaned over and looked at the computer screen.  He groaned.  "You _are_ on that site."

"You mean Fanfiction.net?  Yeah, I decided to come back on here.  There were some good stories."

"_Why_, Jim?  _Why_ are you on here again?"

"I said, good—"

"Apart from the general eeriness of that story that actually knew what was happening, this is _not_ a good site for you!  All that happens is you get upset because people keep killing you, and then you start sobbing—"

Kirk was offended.  "Me?  Sob?  I do not sob!  Perhaps I become…a bit choked-up, but sob…"

"Should we look at that story again?  The React one?  We'll just _see_ if you were sobbing!"

"I don't think that's necessary," Kirk said quickly.

"Hmph.  Seriously though, Jim, you really ought to stay off this site."

"There is no logic in reading stories which only upset you," Spock noted.

"So I'm an illogical human.  What else is new?" Kirk asked.

"That is not new," Spock said calmly.

"Fine," McCoy said.  "Read the stories.  Throw fits about your death scenes.  _I'm_ leaving."  McCoy stood up.

"Well, if you insist, Bones.  Too bad though, I was just about to read one called 'The Real McCoy,'" Kirk said slyly.

McCoy sat down.  "Oh?"

"Yeah.  No summary, but title sounds like it might have possibilities."

"Well…maybe.  And, you know, it's not all that likely that _you'd_ get killed in a story with _my_ name in the title…" McCoy reasoned with himself.

"Sure.  Makes sense," Kirk encouraged.

"It would seem incongruous with the apparent premise," Spock agreed.

They looked at him.  "_What_ apparent premise?" McCoy asked.  "There's no summary."

"It seems obvious from the title that this story in some way involves duplicates of you.  Hence the issue is which is 'the real McCoy.'"

McCoy laughed.  "Aw come on.  That's crazy.  Dozens of me running around?"

"Only one way to find out," Kirk pointed out.

"Oh fine.  Let's read it."  McCoy gave in.

They did.  Read it, that is.  Things went along quietly enough at first, and then came the zinger.  The appearance of a _second_ Dr. McCoy.

"What do you know," McCoy said, surprised.  "This _is_ about duplicates of me."

"As I predicted," Spock pointed out.

McCoy did not comment.

They read on.  There seemed to be thirty or so McCoys running around, which gave rise to such lines as "walking down the corridor was a threesome of Dr. McCoys."  Soon there was a hostage situation, coupled with Scotty down in engineering turning off the lights, while Simmons wandered randomly around the ship.  In other words, no end of confusion.  And then it happened.

"I got shot."

No, that wasn't McCoy talking, even if it was his name in the title.  That was Kirk.

"I got shot!"  Kirk was not pleased.  "It never fails!  Inevitably, somehow, _I_ get into trouble!"

McCoy sighed.  " I _knew_ this was a bad idea."

"Well we've _got_ to keep reading now," Kirk said fervently.  "Just to find out if I die or not!"

So they read.  They had located the real McCoy, and escaped from the clones for the moment.  Kirk, however, was in poor condition.  And it didn't help that they were wandering the corridors in the dark, trying to find Sickbay.  And being followed by Chekov, who was under the distinct and mistaken impression that Kirk and Spock had been taken captive by a McCoy-clone.  Simmons was still roaming, still lost.  Sulu was having a very rough day.  But so was most everyone else.

To state it differently, things were a mess.

"These chapters are…_funny_," Kirk complained.

"Yeah, they are," McCoy agreed, amused.

Kirk was not amused.  Or pleased.  "How _dare_ the author write funny chapters while there's a bullet in my side?!"

"Lighten up, Jim," McCoy said casually.

"Easy for you to say, _you're_ not the one _bleeding_!"

"No, but I probably will be if Chekov ever catches us," McCoy said, completely unconcerned at the thought of having his character attacked by the navigator.

"You know what?" Kirk said, glaring furiously at the computer screen.  "I don't trust this writer.  I have the strangest feeling she'd write jokes into my funeral.  That 'squish' bit worries me…"

McCoy sighed.  "Don't you think you're taking this too seriously?  It's just a story.  Fiction."

Kirk stared at him.  "An entire online community seems to be devoted to killing me off in stories, and I should take it lightly?!"

McCoy coughed.  "Have you considered that maybe you're overestimating your own importance to this website?"

"No."

Not many easy comebacks to that.  "Look, Jim, all I'm saying is maybe you're overreacting."

"I most likely am.  And I will continue to overreact until I find out if I die of bullet wounds.  So stop talking and let me read."

They read.  And they found out what happened to Kirk (which I'm not going to mention as that would give away another writer's cliffhanger and there must be a Code against that somewhere; you'll just have to read it yourself).  But there were several other chapters, and so they kept reading, which just possibly may have been a bad move.

"I'm dead?  I'm _dead_?!"

No, that wasn't Kirk talking.  That was McCoy.

"I'm DEAD!  How dare they kill ME off?" McCoy demanded.

Kirk had a strange look in his eyes.  "You know, Bones, it's _only_ fiction."

"Only nothing!  This writer just killed me!  This is an outrage!"

"Have you considered that you're over reacting?" Kirk asked pleasantly.

"Over reacting, HAH!  Dead.  Me!  What did I ever do to—"  McCoy paused.  He looked at Kirk.  Looked back at the screen.  Coughed, abruptly embarrassed. "Ahem.  Perhaps…well, it _is_ fiction, um, well, let's read something different, hmm?"

"Sure, Bones."

"Here, this looks interesting, 'Everyone Goes Nuts,' let's read that."  It definitely looked like it would be distracting, and that was his main goal at the moment.

They read.  They might have done well to notice the line in the summary about Kirk screaming, but they weren't paying attention.  They noticed soon enough.

"I'm running and screaming?  _Running_ and _screaming_?"  Kirk was unhappy.

McCoy was pleased.  If Kirk made a scene, who was going to remember _his_ little incident?

"I _never_ run and scream!"

"Actually, you have been known to run.  Screaming is very rare though," Spock commented.

"I don't like this…" Kirk muttered, but they kept reading.  Right up until a shuttle was deliberately crashed, apparently with Kirk in it.

"I killed myself," Kirk said, staring at the computer screen.  "I _killed_ myself!"

"Nah, Spock wouldn't let you."  McCoy frowned.  "I don't think he would anyway."  He turned to Spock.  "Would you?"

Spock blinked.  "Allow the Captain to kill himself?"

"Well, would you?"

"I would endeavor to prevent—"

"Never mind what Spock would do!  _I_ killed myself!  Me!  I can't kill myself!  I'm James T. Kirk!  Captain of the starship _Enterprise_!  Suicide is not in my character!"  Kirk was wailing.

McCoy was resigned.  "Jim, you're at it again."

"I'm DEAD, oh this is TERRIBLE!  It's not bad enough I run screaming from Stella, now I DIE!"  Kirk was sobbing by now.  "This author is a HORRIBLE person!"

"Aren't you being a little rough on her?  We don't KNOW that you're dead," McCoy said, reasonably.

"How many people do you know with ripped yellow shirts?!"

"Well…"  McCoy thought about that one.  "Maybe you're dead, Jim."

"I don't like this, I don't like this at ALL," Kirk grumbled.  "And why is there never another chapter after someone dies?"

"I don't know," McCoy commented, "maybe they just want to torture people."

"Hmph.  Well…anybody want to read another one?" Kirk asked doubtfully.  His interest in fan-written fiction was dying.  McCoy, having encountered a death scene for himself, was also less enthusiastic.  Spock, on the other hand…

"It could be an interesting experiment," Spock commented thoughtfully.

Kirk and McCoy looked at him.  "Experiment?"

"Thus far, two out of two stories have involved the death and/or injury of one or more of us.  Further reading to determine if this frequency of deaths and/or injuries continues has the possibility for offering fascinating insight into the psychological areas of our base of fans."

Kirk and McCoy, even with long practice, required about three seconds to work out precisely what Spock had just said.  Having arrived at a satisfactory conclusion, they did have to admit it had some merit.

McCoy sighed.  "Well, never let it be said we turned our backs on our fans' psychological welfare."

"We will probably encounter unpleasant stories depicting our demises in varying ways," Spock cautioned, aware that humans have a tendency to be disturbed by these things.

"Well, that's the risk we take," Kirk said.  "And risks are our business.  When man first looked at the stars—"

"_Read_, Jim, don't talk," McCoy snapped.

So they read.  They jumped from story to story randomly, didn't read everything but read quite a few.  Didn't encounter TOO many death scenes…a lot of injuries and unpleasant circumstances though.

"These people have it in for me."

"They do not, Jim.  I'm sure they're all very fond of you.  You've only died a couple times."

"_Only_, he says," Kirk muttered.  "The deaths are the ones that get to me, but there's been plenty of _other_ things happening to me too, you know.  Like "Shade," when I was invisible.  Or "Best Laid Plans," when I disappeared and got attacked by a Creature.  And don't forget "Henoch's Revenge," what a day _that_ was!  First I'm attacked by a flying canine, then my soul's being stolen, then I get turned into a lizard!  A lizard!"

"Aw, come on, Jim," McCoy teased.  "You were probably a cute lizard."

Kirk glared at him.

"Don't shout, pick something else to read," McCoy advised, forestalling another string of complaints.

Kirk sighed, shrugged, and clicked another title: "Mount Olympus."

*  *  *

They read all the way up to the end of Chapter Five, with intermittent complaints from Kirk about the obvious trouble _he_, not anyone else, was in.  And then they read to the last line of Chapter Five:  "Kirk was dying."

"Aaaarrrrgh!"  Kirk seemed thoroughly tempted to hit the computer screen.  "How DARE there not be another chapter!"

McCoy was actually mildly worried.  "Jim, get a grip."

"A grip?!  A grip?!  I'm _dying_!"

"Captain, you seem to be having trouble viewing this with the proper detachment," Spock said calmly.  "_You_ are not dying.  The fictional James Kirk within this story is dying.  _You_ are fine."

"What _difference_ does it make?!"

[A/N: And "a difference which _makes_ no difference _is_ no difference."  Ahem, sorry, random Spock-quote which has no bearing at the moment but I love rattling off whenever possible.]

"Considering you're not stretched out on the floor, it makes a pretty big difference," McCoy said dryly.

"But they have this weird obsession with killing me!  This is TERRIBLE!"

"All right, that's it," McCoy snapped.  "Either you prove you can control yourself and stop shrieking, or I'm shooting you so full of sedatives you won't be awake for a week."

"You wouldn't."

"Want to bet?"

Kirk thought about it.  "Not really.  Okay, fine.  I'm calm.  Controlled.  Not shrieking at all."

"Good.  Stay that way."

"Right, right.  But really, what is it with these stories?" Kirk muttered.  "These people don't like me!  At least over at the BBK they appreciate me…"

McCoy frowned.  "The BBK?"

Kirk froze.  "Did I say BBK?"

"Yes, you did.  What is it?"

"Uh…nothing important, well, looks like I'm due on the bridge about now, I'll just be going…"  Kirk stood up.

"Alpha shift does not begin for 2.749 hours," Spock noted.

Kirk sat down.  He looked from McCoy to Spock.  Neither one was going to let him out of the room without telling them about the BBK.  He shrugged.  Well…what was there to lose anyway?

"So, Jim…what's the BBK?" McCoy asked.

Wouldn't you like to know?  Heehee…next chapter, I promise!  Anyone wanna hazard a guess by the way?  It's a website, I'll tell you that.

Now, no shrieking.  Next chapter will be up soon, honest.  I _promise_!


	24. KirkSites

Disclaimer: Still don't own Star Trek, etc. etc.

TrekkieForever: Kirk agrees.  He's Kirk.  He just _can't_ be dead.  : )  Sorry your family thought you were nuts.  Happens to a lot of people, me included.  Mine has taken to referring to FF as my 'obsession.'  Go figure.

Trekker-T: Me?  Mean?  I'm hurt!  Hey don't complain to me, complain to my chemistry teacher.  Quiz last week, we had to memorize the names and formulas of cations, anions, polyatomic ions…only Spock would be interested in these things.  Well, yeah, that was a little random, but I'll do my best to post.  Patience is a virtue.  British Star Trek Message Board?  Sorry, nice try, but I've never heard of it.

Blynedda: Zaniness…I love that word.

Ruanek: You like cliffhangers…ookay…[shrug] well, why not?

Keridwen: Ooh…devious stuff…should be fascinating.

EmpressLeia: Alternate ending?  I love alternate endings!  Post!

Charmega: Heehee…a cute lizard…ooh, that's funny.  Yes, post!  Finish the story, it's been HOW many months? And I must agree, Keridwen _needs_ to add more to Going Postal.

Rihannsu: Me?  Genius?  Well, if you _insist_…(ahem, there goes that gremlin again)

I think this makes a record high in number of notes.  Kewl.  On to the actual story:

Chapter 24:

Kirk-Sites

_Kirk, Spock, and McCoy have been surfing the net.  As we return, Kirk is about to reveal the meaning of the letters BBK:_

"Well, Jim?  What's the BBK?" McCoy persisted.

Kirk sighed.  "Well, if you must know…"  He typed and clicked, and brought up a new website.

McCoy squinted at the address.  "Www._BringBackKirk_.com?"

"Fascinating," Spock murmured.

"It's this really great website, I ran across it a few days ago," Kirk explained.  "Apparently I got killed under a bridge or something, I'm not very clear on how or when that supposedly happened; and really, what kind of way to go is _that_?  Anyway, these people banded together, and are trying to convince this 'Paramount' to resurrect me.  Now isn't that a noble cause?"

"Well, I suppose," McCoy muttered doubtfully.

"These are people who appreciate me," Kirk said, warming to his topic.  "Just look at this opening bit: 'The universe hangs in the balance.  One man, thought to be dead, is the only one who can save it.  The time has come to turn death into a fighting chance to live!  And a legend...will return!'  Isn't that great?  I like the part about 'the only one.'  Or this part lower down: 'We want James T. Kirk, our beloved Captain who truly made _Star Trek_ fun and exciting, brought back.'  I told you, this is a _great_ site."

"Great," McCoy said dryly.  Now, if Kirk _was_ to die, he'd be more than happy to see him resurrected.  But as he didn't seem to be dead, reading the site seemed like little more than an ego booster.  And Kirk's ego had _never_ needed any boosting, _that_ McCoy knew well.

Spock, meanwhile, had read on.  "'The idea of James T. Kirk ending up falling off a bridge and splatting on the base of a mountain has boggled the minds of Trek fans for years.'  Perhaps you should give up rock climbing," he mused.

Kirk coughed, and scrolled downwards.  "Yeah, well, the important thing is these people are trying to resurrect me."

"Well there's something you don't see every day," McCoy commented.  "You, apparently dying under a bridge."  He frowned.  "Looks unpleasant."

Kirk was looking uncomfortable.  "Yeah, _well_…"

"_Fascinating_," Spock said again.  "Either that is a very clever fake, or you are someday going to die under a bridge, and this website, perhaps due to a temporal anomaly, has a picture."

Kirk started to look worried.  "Waaait a minute.  You think I might _actually_ die under a bridge?"

"That does seem to be what this site says, Jim," McCoy pointed out.

"Well, yeah, but I figured it was a story or something, like the other ones.  I mean, I can't _die_ under a _bridge_!  That's a horrible way to go!  That's not heroic at all!"

"Don't worry, maybe they'll get you resurrected," McCoy suggested.

"I guess…"  Kirk brightened up.  "Well, I'll just make sure not to step on any bridges after this."

"A logical precaution.  However, the picture indicates that in some time frame you have already died, and therefore it may not be possible to avoid—"  Spock broke off as McCoy kicked him.  Kirk was starting to look freaked again.

"Right…well, I guess we'll just have to see…" Kirk said doubtfully.

"Sure.  And at least this site _clearly_ appreciates you," McCoy said cheerfully.

"Oh definitely," Kirk agreed.  "Although this is nothing compared to this _other_ site I've been going on."

"Oh?" McCoy said cautiously.

"Yeah, I ran across this other really terrific site too."  Kirk typed and clicked again, bringing up a third website.

"The…Captain Kirk Page?" McCoy said, reading the banner across the top.

Kirk swept a hand across the screen, indicating the line of text under several pictures of him.  "Isn't that nice; 'Devoted to the universe's greatest starship captain: James Tiberius Kirk.'  I couldn't have said it better myself."

"I could think of a few other ways to describe you," McCoy said dryly.

"Well sure, me too, but that sums it up nicely."

"That's not quite what I meant," McCoy muttered.  Kirk took no notice.

"There's all kinds of _excellent_ stuff in here," Kirk continued.  "Like over here.  'Kirk Information.'  Very accurate biography, detailing my life and triumphs.  And over here…you can get a Kirk Fan Diploma!"  He beamed at them.  "Maybe you should get a couple!"

"That's okay," McCoy said quickly.  There was no way in the galaxy he was hanging a "Kirk-Fan Diploma" on his wall.  _No_ way.

"Oh."  Kirk seemed mildly crestfallen for a moment, but perked up quickly.  "Well, under this link they have Great Kirk Moments."

"Great.  Kirk.  Moments?"  McCoy echoed, almost as if he expected to be told that actually the title was a joke and the link led to something else entirely.  He was not told this.

"Most intriguing," Spock murmured.

"Not the word I'd use," McCoy muttered.

"And then there's my _favorite_ part," Kirk went on.  "'Kirk vs. Picard.'"  

He clicked, and brought up a new page.

"'The Top Infinite Reasons Why Kirk is Better Than Picard,'" they read, Kirk with delight, McCoy with incredulity, Spock with very faint surprise.

"I'm not entirely clear on who exactly Picard is, but hey, if they say I'm better, who am I to argue?"  Kirk grinned.  "Especially with 1495 reasons!"

"_Fourteen_-hundred, ninety-five…"  McCoy was very glad he was sitting down.  Even Spock was somewhat taken aback.  

"Let's see…some of my favorites are down a ways…" Kirk said, scrolling.  "Oh, here's a good one: '1440: If Kirk's ship had children on board, he'd be honored if they were nice enough to celebrate a 'Captain Kirk Day.''  I _would_ be honored.  You know what this ship needs?"

"Children?" McCoy hazarded vaguely.

"No, a Captain Kirk Day!  Remind me to bring it up at the next board meeting."

"Riight."

"I doubt that would go over very well," Spock murmured, raising an eyebrow as he continued reading.

"Or down here, number 1434: 'It took THREE skilled Air Force personnel to stop Kirk during 'Tomorrow is Yesterday.'  (And, I might add, they had great difficulty n doing this.)'  That's very true, VERY true.  Or the next one down, 1433: 'Captain Kirk had decency and compassion to allow Lt. Galloway to return to her duties in 'The Deadly Years.'  That was a shame, about Galloway.  But that _was_ decent of me, wasn't it?"

"Decent," McCoy agreed, sounding strained.

"Or look at this, 1412: 'Kirk is as hip and edgy as "The Far Side."'  I don't know about 'The Far Side,' but I _am_ hip and edgy."

"Hip?" Spock said, raising his other eyebrow.

"And edgy?" McCoy said, his incredulity levels mounting by the moment.

"And then there's 1401: 'Kirk is hard to intimidate.'  That says a lot."

"I don't believe this," McCoy muttered.

"Pretty unbelievable, isn't it?" Kirk agreed.  "Had no idea you were serving with a living legend, did you?"

"No," McCoy said dryly.

"Here's another good one, 1392: 'Kirk is strong enough to take an enemy's sword and break it in half like a twig. ('Squire of Gothos')'  Or 1389: 'Picard was never referred to by other captains as 'the one and only.'  Sisko referred to Kirk this way in 'Trials and Tribble-lations.'  I like that: the one and only James T. Kirk.  I should get that on a plaque or something.  Here, I like this one too, 1373: 'Picard broods when women reject him.  Kirk does not have this brooding problem.  Besides, women never reject him.'  So true.  1364: 'Klingons fear, respect and want to fight Kirk as a badge of honor.'  I have heard similar things many times.  From the Klingons.  Not to mention…"

Kirk did not seem aware that no one else was talking.  McCoy had assumed a faintly glazed expression.  Spock's eyebrows had vanished into his hairline several minutes ago, and were showing no signs of reemergence.  

It was the line about future captains risking it all for Kirk's autograph (1028) that finally did it.  McCoy looked at Spock, and attempted to convey with facial expressions that 1) Jim was clearly off his rocker so 2) they had better get him off this site as soon as possible, because 3) if they didn't he was bound to become completely insufferable and eventually someone with a less benign attitude would come along and strangle him so 4) Spock had just better follow his lead.  How much of that got across, he couldn't guess.  Hopefully enough.

"Jim," he said meaningfully, "I think we need to talk."

"In a minute, this one here's really good, it says—"

"Jim, step away from the computer.  I think you need to spend some time in Sickbay."

"I WHAT?"

"You're ill."

"I am not, I'm fine!  What is this, anyway, I—"

"You are clearly suffering from a severe case of Egolomania."

"Coupled with Ostentacity," Spock added.  Apparently he'd gotten at least the general idea.

"Hey, hey, wait a minute!  Can we talk about this?" Kirk demanded as they marched him out of the room.  "You can't do this to me!  I'm _James T. Kirk_!"

They ignored him.  And being hauled along as he was by his first officer and chief medical officer, there wasn't a whole lot he could do.  Except hope that the people on The Captain Kirk Page never got wind of _this_.

Sites visited:

www.BringBackKirk.com  And they do indeed have a picture of Kirk dead under a bridge.

www.TheCaptainKirkPage.com  Check out the list, there are 1495 reasons last time I looked.  All reasons I used were taken straight off the site, though for most I left off part, specifically the part that states why whatever it is makes Kirk better than Picard.  The point was to build Kirk's ego, not crush Picard.

Advise you to check them both out, they're thoroughly entertaining!  Oh yeah, congrats to Rihannsu, Charmega and TrekkieForever for knowing the meaning of the cryptic letters BBK.

Next chapter up ASAP, barring any more Chemistry quizzes.


	25. The Raven

Disclaimer: Don't own Star Trek.  Also don't own The Raven.  That's Poe's.  Creepy man, Poe.  But he writes a good poem.

Admiral Ael: Cute picture!  And yeah, it's an awesome site.

Keridwen: So glad you think so.

Blynedda: [grin] Glad you're enjoying this.  If you're reading this, you've obviously caught up.  Congrats!

Emmy: Thank you for offering a suggestion.  However, slash will not be happening, for a number of reasons.  One, I don't read slash, or want to.  Two, I would have a HARD time getting them to react naturally to slash.  Three, this has a _G_-rating.  Glad you like the story though.

Hanakin: The _very_ last thing he needs.  : )

Emp: Heehee…I enjoyed that line.  Hope things are looking up regarding the dinner and all.

Meredith: Rock band…hmm.  Glad to know you haven't dropped off the Earth or something.  (Although if you were on Vulcan, you'd _have_ to tell me how you got there.)

Rihannsu: Quiet fits can be so fun…

Whew, that's everyone.  I LOVE the reviews, by the way, how many times have I said that now?

As you no doubt know, it's Halloween!  (Well, unless you're in NZ and it's already Nov 1st.)  For Halloween, we have a special chapter.  Not especially creepy, but in that direction.  And, just for fun, we're actually doing some reacting!  (Remember when we used to do that?)  This is based on Edgar Allan Poe's poem The Raven.  If you haven't read, I recommend.  In brief, it's dark and spooky.  The Narrator is sitting in his room late at night, mourning over the lost Lenore, when a raven enters.  An evil raven.  It's spooky.

So, enjoy, and have a delightful Halloween!

Chapter Twenty-Five:

The Raven

It was upon a midnight dark and dreary.  Of course, in terms of the weather outside, it was a pretty dark and dreary noontime too.  It's always dark in deep space.  But no one goes outside anyway, for obvious reasons.

In any case, it was midnight, it was dark, and Jones was awake, reading an old volume of forgotten lore.  Whatever that means.  The silence was broken by a rapping, a gentle tapping, at the door.  This was a little odd, as all the doors on the _Enterprise_ had doorbells.  Jones firmly told himself that there was no reason to be nervous simply because someone chose to knock at the door.  Even if it was midnight.  It was just some late visitor wanting entrance.  Only this and nothing more.

"Come in!" Jones called.

No answer.

Jones frowned.  This was a little odder.  And odd things made Jones uneasy.  Lots of things made Jones uneasy though.  He tried to shrug it off, and opened the door.

No one there.

Darkened corridors, nothing more.

And then there was a noise.  Not a tapping, or a rapping, but a flapping.  And a big, black, feathered form materialized out of the shadows and flew unhesitatingly into the room.  Jones numbly shut the door behind it.

"A bird?  A _bird_?!"  Jones was more than a little surprised.  "Where did a _bird_ come from?"

The bird had perched itself on the lintel above the door.  It was sitting, wings folded, staring unblinkingly at Jones.  It was actually a bit creepy the way it regarded him, out of small red eyes, staring, staring, watching Jones, so somber and solemn.

Jones was spooked.  "There is something creepy about you," he said as lightly as he could.  "Seems to me I read something about a raven just like you once…don't remember where.  Guess _you_ can't tell me."

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

Jones' eyes bugged.  NOW he knew where he'd read about a raven.  He was familiar with Edgar Allan Poe, you see.  Why exactly he read Poe is a mystery.  All it did was scare him.  He hadn't slept for a week after reading "The Fall of the House of Usher."  But whatever the reason, he did read it.  So he knew about the raven.  He backed away from the door and the raven above it.  "Go away.  Go AWAY."

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"NO!  No, go, be gone!  Leave me _alone_!  I don't even know any Lenores!  And I don't want to either!  You can keep her!  Just go back to wherever you came from!"

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"AUUGH!" Jones shrieked, and dived under the bed.

Jones was found by his roommate in the morning, who had spent the night on Gamma shift.  The roommate entered, to find an apparently empty room.  Only on closer inspection did one note the foot sticking out from under the corner of the bed.

"Uh, Jones?" he asked.  "Are you under the bed again?"  Jones, as you may know, made a habit of hiding under his bed during periods of stress.

"YES!  And I'm NOT coming out!"

His roommate was puzzled.  "Well…I could be wrong, but I thought today was Friday the _first_, not Friday the thirteenth."

Jones' head emerged briefly to stare at him incredulously.  "Friday the thirteenth?  _Friday the thirteenth_?  Is that what you think this is about?!  It's worse!  Far worse!"  Jones ducked back out of sight.

The roommate sighed.  "All right.  What is it this time?"

"The raven.  There's a raven.  And it's evil."

"What raven?"

Jones' head came out again.  "_Right there_ over the doo…"  The lintel was vacant.  Jones crawled out and stood to take a better look.  "It's gone!"

"Yeah…"

Jones sat on the edge of the bed, and buried his face in his hands.  "What does the bird kingdom have against _me_?!  First a goose and now a raven!  I'll go mad, I tell you!  _Mad_!"

The look he was being given suggested it might not be a long trip.

*  *  *

If permitted, we will backtrack a few hours and several decks, and peer into the Captain's room upon that dark and dreary midnight.  Kirk too was awake, and reading on his computer screen.  He was not, however, on The Captain Kirk Page.  He'd managed to get himself out of Sickbay and back into his friends good graces within an hour or so earlier, but not without swearing up, down, backwards, sideways, and diagonally that he would _never_—even if Romulans were torturing him—go back onto _that_ site.  And he suspected that, regardless of what the BBK might say, if they ever caught him on _that_ site again, he'd be dead long before he encountered any bridges.

In any case, it was late, and he was reading an old story.  There was a real run on forgotten lore that night.  Perhaps it was somehow related to the weather.

The silence and the stillness was broken by a rapping, a gentle tapping at the door.  Kirk's quarters, of course, had a doorbell as well, so knocking was unusual.  Kirk found this odd, but not especially disturbing.  It took more than knocking to creep out Captain Kirk.

"Enter," he called.

No answer.

Kirk frowned, shrugged, and went to open the door.

At first, nothing.  Familiar corridors made faintly eerie by the dimmed lighting for Gamma Shift.  Silence, dark and deep.  And then, a faint noise.

"Hello?  Anybody out here?"

There was a flapping, and a big, black, stately raven flew into the room.  The door shut behind it, and the raven perched on the lintel above the doorframe.  It stared, unblinking, at Kirk.  Kirk stared back, speechless for a moment or two.

"If I hear," he said finally, "that you're a _sacred raven_, there will be trouble."  He meant it too.

The raven did not seem impressed.  It continued staring, in a way that was curiously uncanny.  Kirk tried to shake the feeling off and think of a plausible reason for a bird to be loose on his ship.  He came up with nil. He stood in the center of the room, and studied it.

The bird continued its unblinking gazing.  Kirk started to feel uncomfortable.  It wasn't easy to spook Kirk, but this bird was somehow doing it.  There was nothing _really_ very strange about it.  It just had an odd aura of the supernatural, the deep denizens of the subconscious.  

"You know, there's nothing strange about ravens," Kirk said, to himself or the bird it's hard to say.  "They're just birds.  Dumb animals.  Maybe in, say, the 1800s or so, people thought they were evil.  But this is the twenty-third century."

The bird was beginning to look creepily intelligent to him.  Obeying impulse, Kirk reached for a tricorder and did a scan.  The tricorder registered a perfectly normal, perfectly harmless bird.  Definitely not intelligent, not abnormal, not anything.  Just a bird.  Kirk felt unaccountably relieved, and annoyed with himself for feeling that way.

"Well.  Just a dumb bird."

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."  The eeriness quadrupled.

Kirk's jaw dropped.  "You know, this looks like a really good time to find some nice, normal, _humans_.  I think I'll, uh, go to the Mess Hall."

He left, telling himself all the way to the Mess Hall that maybe McCoy was right, he was working too hard, and now he was hallucinating.

He returned to his quarters an hour later.  He'd spent a pleasant hour with Scotty, who'd been up late fiddling with the transistalator in the—well, never mind what it was, he was fiddling with it.  Kirk was in a considerably better frame of mind as he approached the doors to his quarters.

His mood dropped as the doors opened.  Inside, it was dark.  Even though he was sure he'd left the lights on.  He shoved down an ominous feeling, and entered.  The doors shut behind him, sending the room into almost complete blackness.

There was a noise.  A flapping.  And Kirk had the distinct impression of a black form with glowing red eyes flying straight at him.  He reacted instinctively, ducking out of the way, then took three steps to his desk, grabbed the phaser he knew was there, and fired.  

There was a thud.

"Computer, lights."

The room brightened, and the form of the raven was visible, crumpled on the floor.

"Oh well," Kirk said lightly.

Quoth the raven nevermore.  

*  *  *

Backtracking again, by a couple corridors and a couple hours, we arrive in McCoy's quarters.  McCoy was also wakeful, as was Surak the cat.  Who heard the rapping first is difficult to say, but either way there was a rapping, a gentle tapping, at the door.

"Who would be _knocking_ at midnight?  If this isn't an emergency, they've got _no_ consideration…" McCoy grumbled to himself.

"Meow," Surak commented.

McCoy shrugged.  "Come in," he called.

No answer.

"Inconsiderate _and_ deaf," McCoy muttered, and went to open the door.

Empty corridors.  Darkness there and nothing more.  McCoy frowned, puzzled.  Pranks didn't seem likely aboard the _Enterprise_.  He was about to return to his quarters and close the door, when there was, not a tapping but a flapping.  And in flew a bird.  McCoy entered after it.

His first reaction had been to think, 'oh no, not another goose,' but on closer examination it was pretty obvious this wasn't a goose.  For one thing it was black.  Also it was a grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird.  McCoy frowned at it.

"Jim is not gonna like this."

"Mrr," Surak said, perhaps on agreement but more likely in regard to the bird.  Surak was crouched, tail twitching, staring at the raven.

"Not again," McCoy told him.  "You got lucky last time, but if you keep attacking birds bigger than you, you're going to be in trouble.  And _then_ how often will you be stalking _any_ birds?"

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."  Probably in a bid for attention, objecting to being upstaged to a cat.  It worked.

McCoy and Surak turned to look at the raven simultaneously, with mirror expressions of surprise.

"Do ravens talk?" McCoy asked.  Where he expected an answer, I don't know.  "You _are_ just a raven right?  Just a bird?  We didn't get a feathered crewmember that no one told me about?"

The raven stared, unblinking, from its perch above the door.  It was definitely just a raven.

"Well…maybe I imagined it," McCoy muttered.

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Or not," McCoy amended, trying to figure out, first, why the raven was talking, and second, what about it was so unnerving.

He never did figure it all out precisely.  He was distracted by Surak, who, whether because he sensed something eerie or just out of cat-instinct, leaped for the raven.  The raven squawked a normal bird-type sound, and flew away from the door.  It circled, with Surak in pursuit from the ground.  McCoy judged it wise to get out of the way of both of them.  Surak chose his moment, and leaped again, connected, and bore the raven towards the ground.

With one last "Nevermore" the raven abruptly vanished.  Into thin air.  Surak landed, on four feet as cats are apt to do, but without any sign of the bird he'd been attacking.  It was, quite simply, not there.  It was very, _very_ strange.  McCoy and Surak stared at the spot it had been.

McCoy swallowed.  "You know…I think I should go check on the night nurses, in Sickbay.  That seems wise."

"Mrrr…" Surak said.

"You can come.  Let's get out of here."

They left.

*  *  *

Backtracking just once more, we come, not to another quarters, but to the brig, with its sole occupant: Harry Mudd.  There was also a guard, Smith to be precise.  Both were awake, Smith on duty, Harry puzzling over ways to escape.  Forgotten lore held no particular lure for him, unless he could sell it to someone.

There was no tapping, there being no door, but there was a flapping.  And into sight flew a raven, a stately black raven.  Smith and Harry stared at it.

"What's a raven doing here?" Smith asked, faintly nervous.

"Well _I_ wouldn't know," Harry pointed out.

The raven perched on the wall across from the cell and stared, unblinking, at the two of them.

"Maybe I'll…call someone.  And see," Smith decided.  He tried the nearest comm unit.  It didn't seem to be working.  He frowned.  "Well, there's another one in the corridor.  Don't go anywhere."  He exited.

Harry studied the raven.  Unlike all before him, he didn't find it spooky.  No doubt there was a deep-seated psychological reason for this, probably related to his worshipping of profit rather than anything spiritual, but no need to get into that.  Whatever the reason, he found the raven not spooky, but amusing.

"So tell me, o bird," he said mockingly, "how shall I get out of my cage?"

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

Harry's jaw dropped.  First he was surprised.  Then, he had a thought.  "Saaay.  I could make a fortune with you!"

The raven seemed mildly perturbed.  Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"I can see it now!  Harry Mudd's Amazing Talking Raven!  I'll wow 'em in the little colonies, they haven't got any decent entertainment.  Can you say anything else?"

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"That's okay, with the right publicity one word is enough," Harry decided.  "Stick with me, bird, and as soon as I get out of here, we'll be going places."

The raven ruffled its wings, looking definitely concerned.  "Nevermore."

"Our faces will be known from here to the Klingon Empire!  'Harry and the Bird!'"

With a very definitive "Nevermore!" the raven took flight, flew down the length of the room, out the door, and out of sight.

"Hey, wait, come back!"  Harry sighed.  "I have no luck."  But he brightened quickly.  "But on the other hand, who needs one dumb bird that says 'nevermore?'  With a hidden microphone I could fake a much better act…"

*  *  *

As for the raven, it seemed to decide that it had had _quite_ enough of the _Enterprise_.  Far from sitting, never flitting, it was seen…nevermore.

Ah, that was fun.  Next chapter soon.  Leave a review please, I gotta go carve pumpkins.


	26. Out of the Brig, By a Spoon

Disclaimer:  Me?  Own Star Trek?  Nope, absolutely not.  And if you don't know that by NOW…I worry.

Blynedda:  Ramblings are so fun to read.  I'll see what I can do with the monkeys.  Have you gotten to the one about the geese yet?

Catlover: I'll try to use Surak, I love cats myself.

Ael:  A Trill?  Cool!  I'd have been a Vulcan, 'cept I'd _never_ have heard the end of it from my friends.  They _already_ bug me about being Trek-obsessed. [shrug]

Keridwen: Funny, sounds a lot like what _my_ lit class concluded.  Good luck with the stress, Latin midterm done yet?  And if so, how about this devious stuff?

Emp: Things really aren't looking up for Kirk either.  Contrary to first paragraph…well, read on everyone, you'll see.

Rihannsu: I love when people love my stuff…

Okay, off we go, another fun-filled chap!

Chapter Twenty-Six:

Out of the Brig—By a Spoon

_The next morning, on the bridge_:

Kirk sat in his command chair, well content.  The raven had been pretty strange, but there didn't seem to be any reoccurrences of that little incident.  And things in general were looking up.  For one, they'd left off the pineapples on Rhenium VI a couple hours ago.  Now if they could just get rid of Harry, maybe they could do some _real_ work.  Patrolling near the Romulan Neutral Zone sounded about right.  Maybe Starfleet would need another cloaking device stolen…

These pleasant musings were interrupted by Uhura.  "Captain, we're receiving a transmission from Rhenium VI."

Kirk sighed.  He had a suspicion they weren't calling to congratulate them on the delivery.  People don't congratulate you for delivering fruit.  "Do you have any idea what they want?  Because if they're complaining about rotten pineapples, it's not my problem."

She frowned.  "Well, they did say there was a problem with the delivery, sir…"

Kirk grimaced.  "Great.  Well, put it on the main screen."

"Aye, sir.  Hailing frequencies open."

After a moment the image of Rhenium VI's governor appeared on the viewscreen, a rather young and nervous fellow named Carter.  At the moment, he looked even more nervous than was normal for him.

"Mr. Carter, can I do something for you?" Kirk asked politely.  "Was there a problem with the pineapples?"

"Well…we're not quite sure," Carter admitted.

How can you not know if there's a problem with _pineapples_? Kirk wondered.  Romulans they're not.  "Perhaps you could elaborate, governor," he hinted.

"Yes, well, we opened a crate, and…well, can you imagine what we found?" Carter asked.

"Pineapples?" Kirk guessed.

"Well, yes, pineapples.  But we also found…a person."

"A…person?  Someone stowed away in the pineapples?" Kirk asked, pretty much as a rhetorical question based on his own surprise.

Carter shrugged.  "Well, if you didn't mean to send him, I suppose he stowed away."

"Yes, I would suppose.  Now _who_…"  Kirk had a very bad feeling of a sudden.  "Did he, by any chance, give you his name?"

"Yeah, he identified himself as Harcourt Fenton Mudd.  We have him under custody, until we can figure out what to do with him."  Carter scratched his head, frowning.  "He claims he's a galaxy-renowned pineapple supplier, who was checking his goods when he was accidentally sealed into the crate.  He's been shouting something about suing you."

"Pineapple supplier," Kirk muttered.  "Figures.  He's a criminal, we had him under custody.  Hold onto him until…"  A wild thought occurred to him.  Why not let them _keep_ Harry?  Heavens knew, _Kirk_ didn't want him.  But no, what would Admiral Stufshertt say?  "…until we get back.  We'll take him from you then."

"Certainly, Captain."  With a clear plan and someone else in charge of it, Carter became much more confident.  (How the man ever become governor of a colony is a mystery and will have to remain as one, as this story isn't about Carter.)  "Rhenium out."

Kirk waited for the screen to return to the usual view of the stars before he started muttering a few choice Rigelian curses.  Aimed at Harry, naturally.  He almost regretted he hadn't tossed him out an airlock the moment he first caught sight of him four days ago.

*  *  *

First order of business, naturally, was figuring out how Harry had managed to get from a cell on the _Enterprise_ to a pineapple crate on Rhenium VI.  As a preliminary, Kirk called Security, and was informed that there was no possible way Harry could be on Rhenium VI, as he was still in the brig, under guard.  Kirk decided he better go down to the brig and investigate this himself.

Kirk discovered that there _was_ a security guard in the brig.  Quite literally in the brig.  There was no sign of Harry, but an ensign in a red shirt could be seen behind the flickering forcefield, sitting on a bench and holding his head.  He looked up as Kirk's footsteps echoed through the hall.

"Well it's _about_ time someone thought to check on—"  Jones' eyes bulged as he realized just who had come to check on him.  "Captain Kirk!"  He leaped to his feet and snapped off a salute.

"At ease," Kirk ordered, keying in the commands to drop the forcefield.

Jones exited gratefully, rubbing the back of his head.  Jones was having a very bad day.  First the raven last night, now an escaped prisoner this morning.

"Now perhaps you can explain to me, Ensign, why _you_ were in the cell while Harry Mudd is on Rhenium VI?"

Jones scowled, and for a normally mild person he looked surprisingly murderous.  "_Harry Mudd_.  That low-down, dirty-rotten, _scoundrel_ of a—"

"_Ensign_!  Just give me the story!"

"He hit me over the head!" Jones thundered.  "With a _spoon_!"

Kirk blinked.  "He hit you with a spoon?"

"A _spoon_!"

"Explain."

Jones took a deep breath, and this seemed to steady him somewhat.  "Well sir, Harry wanted chicken for dinner yesterday, but if we gave him chicken we'd have to give him a knife, and that would be a security risk, so we gave him chicken noodle soup instead.  With a spoon."

"Reasonable," Kirk acknowledged.

"Well, sir, he must have kept the spoon.  And this morning he claimed he didn't feel well.  I was going to call Sickbay, but figured I should investigate a little first, so I dropped the forcefield and went in.  And he sure sounded sick, so I turned around to leave and use the comm unit, and he hit me.  With the spoon.  You know, sir, you don't realize how heavy a spoon is until someone hits you with one," Jones said thoughtfully.  "Knocked me clean out."

To his credit, Kirk did not make any comments regarding soft heads.  He simply told Jones to go to Sickbay and have his skull examined, and made mental notes to, first, make sure from now on there were always at least two guards in the brig, and second, to check the actual weight of a standard sized spoon.

*  *  *

Two hours later:

Kirk, Spock, and McCoy were in the transporter room.  The _Enterprise_ had arrived back at Rhenium VI, traveling there at Warp 5.  (Kirk had briefly toyed with the idea of traveling at sublight, but concluded postponing the inevitable would only make matters worse.)  As such, they were preparing to beam down.

"This is going to look pretty bad on the record, isn't it?" McCoy commented.

"It'll look worse on Harry's," Kirk said grimly.  "I'll make certain of that."

"Speaking of which, Captain, what precisely are you planning to do with Harry?" Spock asked.

"What am I going to do?  I am going to kill him," Kirk said quietly.  "And then, I am going to kill him again.  And after that, I will sell him to the Klingon Empire, and let _them_ kill him.  And then I will recommend they give him a life's sentence to Rura Penthe.  And if they disagree, I will sell him to the Romulans and _they_ can—"

"Captain," Spock interrupted,  "so far in the course of your plans Harry Mudd has died three times.  That is, quite literally, impossible.  Barring time travel, alternate universes, unexplained stellar phenomena, and a very few other special cases."

Kirk gave him a withering look.  Spock went on regardless.

"Also, I doubt Starfleet would be amenable to the idea of selling a Federation citizen, criminal or no, to the Romulan or Klingon empires.  And in any case, agreeing upon the price, arranging the transfer, and handling any number of other details would be a substantial diplomatic difficulty, as we are not currently on good terms with either—"

"Tell you what, Jim," McCoy said.  "You kill Harry, I'll kill Spock."

Kirk nodded.  "Agreed."

Spock looked from one to the other, and seemed to reach a conclusion.  "I see.  You do not mean 'kill' in the literal sense of the word, nor do you have any particular intention of acting upon your words.  You are merely speaking in an effort to vent emotions."  His next sentence was faintly tinged with disapproval.  "A most unproductive way to do so."

"You can help kill him if you want, Jim," McCoy offered.

"Thanks, but no.  I'll need him to explain how I can use time travel to kill Harry three times.  Maybe later."

Spock's expression clearly indicated he did not find any of this amusing.  "And you are continuing to do more of the same."

"Gee, Spock, what ever tipped you off?" McCoy asked.

"Maybe he thinks you wouldn't really kill him," Kirk suggested.

"I think he couldn't," Spock said blandly.

"Hey!  If I ever _wanted_ to, I—"

"I don't know about you, but _I_ want to beam down," Kirk interjected.  Joking about killing Spock was all fun and games, but the _last_ thing he needed was McCoy challenging Spock to a duel.

They beamed down.

*  *  *

On the planet, they located the building containing Carter's office, intended as a preliminary step towards finding Harry.  Turns out they didn't need to go anywhere else though.

Carter, in a rare moment of conscientiousness, had decided to keep Harry in his office, and personally watch him.  He didn't seem very dangerous.  And that was true enough.  The most dangerous things about Harry are, one, he'll swindle his own mother if he thinks he can get away with it, and two, when the mood strikes him he never stops talking.

"I tell you, Governor, I was attacked, hurled into the pineapple crate, and sealed in against my will!" Harry thundered.

Carter rested his chin on his hand.  "An hour ago you said you were accidentally sealed in."

"You misheard me," Harry said, without batting an eye.

Carter shrugged.  He wasn't the type to be able to stand up against Harry's double-talk, and had given up over an hour ago, except for the occasional objection to clear contradictions.

"I tell you, keeping a man such as myself in custody is an outrage!  An outrage, sir, an _outrage_!"  Harry emphasized his point by slamming a fist down on Carter's desk.  "When my company hears about this, we will cease supplying fruit to you!  And _then_ what will you do?!"

"You still haven't shown me any proof that you're a pineapple supplier," Carter pointed out, rather feebly truth to tell.  "And Captain Kirk _said_ you were a criminal…"

"Kirk?!  Hah!  That charlatan!  The high and mighty James Kirk!  Hah, I tell you, HAH!  Publicity, all publicity!  I don't believe a word of it!  Fighting Klingons one week, Romulans the next, Andromeda galaxy aliens the week after that?  Impossible I say!  You know what Kirk's got?!  An excellent press agent!  And that, I assure you, is _all_ there is to it!"

"Gee, Harry.  Nice to know you think so highly of me," Kirk said from the doorway, having just arrived on the scene.

Harry swallowed.  The number of times senior officers came up behind him was becoming absolutely _unreasonable_!  He recovered quickly though, smoothing down his jacket front with at least an air of confidence.  "Ah.  Kirk.  We were just discussing you."

"So we heard," Kirk said, entering the room, a wry expression on his face.  Spock and McCoy entered behind him.  It had taken a few minutes to find Carter's office, and Kirk really wouldn't have minded arriving a few minutes later even.

"Captain Kirk, good to see you," Carter said politely.  

Kirk nodded to Carter.  "Governor."  He gestured back to Spock and McCoy.  "My first officer and chief medical officer."

General pleasantries went around.  Though they didn't last long.

"You'll be taking Harry Mudd?" Carter asked, getting to directly to the point.  As far as he was concerned, the sooner Harry was off the planet the better.

"I suppose I have to, don't I?" Kirk agreed, not very diplomatically but honestly.

"I guess one of us has to keep him," Carter admitted.

"On the contrary," Harry interjected, "I'd be happy to just walk out that door and never come back.  You ignore me, I ignore you…"

They'd ignored him.  But as Spock and McCoy were standing between him and the door, it's doubtful they would have ignored an attempt to actually walk out.  He didn't bother trying.

"If you could sign a few papers here…" Carter told Kirk, who commenced adding his signature to several legal things regarding the custody of one Mudd, Harcourt Fenton.

McCoy took advantage of the fact that Kirk was clearly not currently listening to him to comment to Spock in a low voice, "You know, I think we just learned something valuable."

Spock looked at him, raising an eyebrow.  "Oh?"  He clearly did not see what McCoy was getting at.

McCoy beamed.  "If we ever catch Jim on _that_ site again.  We'll just remind him of all that nonsense about press agents.  Better yet, we'll make him talk to Harry for awhile."

Spock considered.  "That…_may_ have practical applications."

McCoy grinned.  "Gee, Spock, I'm touched."

"Yes," Spock said.

This left McCoy to puzzle out whether Spock was simply agreeing with him, or whether he was making a subtle comment about McCoy's sanity levels.  He didn't puzzle for long though (which is just as well, as it could have led to violence, if brought back to the earlier topic), since there really weren't many things for Kirk to sign.  And Carter _was_ rushing things along.

"I think that covers everything then," Kirk said.

"Yes," Carter agreed, relieved.  As of now, Harry Mudd was not his problem. He was Kirk's, and Kirk well knew it.

Kirk glared at Harry.  "All right, Harry, back to the brig for you."

"Are you sure we can't discuss this?" Harry asked.

"No.  We can't."  Kirk flipped out his communicator.  "Kirk to _Enterprise_.  Three to beam up."

*  *  *

Kirk hauled Harry back to the brig, and called in over half the security department for instructions.  Spock went back to the bridge.  McCoy stuck around, for entertainment's sake.  Or, as he put it, to 'watch Jim's petty dictator side surface.'  The security guards were standing in a very orderly line along one wall, Kirk pacing back and forth in front of them, giving directions.  And he did look rather like the dictator of a small country.  Or a large one, for that matter.

"I want _three_ guards in here, at _all_ times.  No more than _one_ guard in the cell at a time.  If anything—_anything_—out of the ordinary happens, you call for reinforcements.  _Immediately_!"  Kirk turned, and paced back up the length of the line.  "Further, from now on he gets _bread_ and _water_.  _No_ butter, _no_ butter knives.  _Every_ plate and cup that goes in _must_ come out.  _Is_—_that_—_clear_?!"

There was a definitive chorus of "Yes, _sir_!"  But there was one question.

"Say Kirk, this bread I'm getting, what kind?  White, wheat…?"

Kirk turned towards Harry, and snapped, "Which do you prefer?"

"I think I'll go with white bread."

Kirk turned back to the guards.  "He gets wheat."  He started to resume pacing, but was sidetracked again.

"Now wait a minute, Kirk, that's not very fair!" 

Kirk turned and approached the cell.  "Fair, Harry?  _Fair_?  You lost your chance at fair a long time ago.  You assaulted two—"  Kirk paused to think for half a moment.  "Actually, you attacked the same member of my crew _twice_, broke out of the brig, and interfered with important cargo. There's fair, and then there's fair, and _you_ are going to get the full penalty of the law."

Kirk stepped closer until he was just an inch away from the forcefield.  Much closer and the flickering field probably would have made him sneeze and ruin the moment, but fortunately he wasn't quite that close.  Just close enough to be rather intimidating.  "And one more thing, Harry," he said, in a low voice that did not bode well for Harry.  "I don't even _have_ a press agent!"

See, I didn't forget ol' Harry down in the brig.  Or poor Jones.  I really must center a chap on him…though I don't think he'd enjoy it much.  Mwahahah!  Next chap up soon, weather permitting!


	27. The Unfortunate Ensign Jones

Disclaimer: Don't own Star Trek, am too busy stressing over finals to think of some clever way to not own Star Trek.

Beedrill: (this will be long) 21: Oh yes, _wonderful_ vacation, lol.  You don't find Spock building a sand castle funny?  Ol' pointy-ears sitting there in front of a little sand castle with a plastic pail and shovel?  No?  Oh well, to each their own.  18: Yes, it was pure silliness.  Silliness is fun.  And am I really _that_ mean to Jones, that he'd be better off dead?  _I_ don't think so…if so, heaven help Caprice (or whatever her name is).  And you haven't even read this chapter yet, heh heh…  Jones'll be in minor trouble in the next couple chapters because those are already planned, but I'll try to ease up on him after that.  Do something nice, give him a promotion, or a girlfriend, or a first name, or something.  15: I hate planes.  Hence those chapters.  But Kuwait Airlines sounds much worse than Austrian Airlines.  12: I knew I shouldn't've said that.  I would put you in the turbolift if I could.  I would put _me_ in the turbolift if I could.  9: Say great all you like, I won't complain.  ^_^  7: Thank you!  I think you're the first to acknowledge the rhyming disclaimer!  1: I try.

Hanakin: Hmm, Thanksgiving _is_ coming up…must see about that.

Trekker-T: LOL, spoon fight…oh my, that's got to be use-able somewhere…

Caprice: Hanging bat-like, eh?  That must look interesting…lol.

Emp: Hmm, what do you know, Kirk did say three to beam up.  Fortunately, I can explain that.  It was a Freudian Slip.  Kirk's conscious mind knew there were actually four to beam up, but he would have been more than happy to leave Harry behind, so it was his subconscious at work, causing him to say "three" rather than four, completely unconsciously and without intent to do so.  Yep.  Or else I'm just used to typing three to beam up.

Keridwen: It was definitely devious…and where is the next chapter?  Well?

Blynedda: What makes you sure the pun was unintentional?  Maybe I carefully crafted that…okay, so maybe it was totally chance and I never noticed it till now.

Off we go again…poor, _poor_ Jones.  Really, I mean it!  Although on the other hand…he _is_ a red-shirt.  What else can he expect?  Well, enough babbling, onto the chapter.

Chapter Twenty-Seven:

The Unfortunate Ensign Jones

_The Enterprise is in orbit around another planet, a Federation world, complete with a fully equipped Starfleet judicial system.  Three guesses why they're there._

Kirk strode into the Mess Hall, positively beaming.  "This is a beautiful day!" he announced to the room in general.

Most of the crewmembers present smiled, nodded, and went on with their meals, figuring that if the captain thought it was a beautiful day, well, that was just great and didn't in any way involve them.  They were right, too.  There was one person present, whose business it wasn't either, but who figured he might as well make it his business.

"Beautiful day, he?" McCoy commented.  "I hadn't noticed any weather changes."

Kirk grinned, and took a seat across the table from him.  "We're in space.  A vacuum.  No weather."

"I know that and you know that but good luck telling it to Spock," McCoy drawled.  "He was doing something just the other day with cosmic storms and spatial winds.  Illogical but sensible person that I am, I naturally asked how exactly there can be wind without air.  He, of course, launched into a _long_ explanation that, I suspect, would have gone over the head of the average _Vulcan_, which tells you exactly how much _I_ followed—"

"Can we get back to it being a beautiful day?" Kirk interrupted.

"Oh, yeah, sure," McCoy said amiably.  "So why's it a beautiful day?"

Kirk grinned.  "Harry is off my ship!  Gone!  Kaput!  Over!"

"Heeey!  It _is_ a beautiful day!"

"Like I said," Kirk said, faintly smug.

McCoy had a thought.  "You _do_ mean, of course, that you turned him over to the Starfleet facility on the planet, right?"

"Well sure.  What else would I mean?"

McCoy shrugged.  "I don't know, you've had that _look_ the last few days every time Harry came up."

Kirk frowned.  "What look?"

"You know, _that_ look."

"No, I don't, _what_ look?"

"That one that says, 'Don't get near me and an airlock at the same time, I'm not accountable for my actions.'"

Kirk laughed.  "Oh come on!  I'm not going to start randomly tossing people out airlocks!"

"Just Harry."

Kirk nodded.  "Just Harry."

How serious he was will not be known, as further conversation was cut off by the intercom.

"Captain Kirk, please report to the bridge.  We're receiving a call from the Starfleet station on the surface."

Kirk and McCoy looked at each other.

"You don't think they're trying to give Harry back, do you?" McCoy asked apprehensively.

"If so, we're leaving at high warp," Kirk said grimly.  "And I don't care _what_ Starfleet says!"  He stood up, and stepped away from the table.  "You want to come?"

"Sure, I'm done eating anyway.  And hey, if they _are_ trying to give Harry back, I can give them a long explanation about how that would be extremely negative to your mental condition."

"Gee, thanks."

*  *  *

On the bridge, they found out that no one was trying to give Harry back.  Thankfully.  However, the actual cause of the call was hardly pleasanter.  It seemed there was a civilian trying to file a complaint.  And for some reason, the Starfleet station felt this was Kirk's problem, and was relaying the call.

Kirk did his best to seem polite.  Though why he should have to deal with some civilian's complaint, he didn't know.  He was a starship captain, not a deskbound commodore, and as far as he could see any complaint from this planet was completely out of his jurisdiction.  "Is there a problem, Ms…?"

"Schroedinger," the woman on the viewscreen said firmly.  "And yes, there is a problem."

"I see.  And that problem is?"

"Well.  Can you imagine what happened to me today?"

"Why don't you just tell me?" Kirk said blandly, wishing she would just state her complaint and stop bothering him.

"I was sitting in _my_ living room, minding _my own_ business, when not twenty minutes ago a man fell through my ceiling.  And I believe he belongs to you."

Dead silence on the bridge of the _Enterprise_.

Kirk recovered his voice after a moment.  "A…someone fell through your ceiling?"

"Yes.  And he seems to be a member of _your_ crew.  He identifies himself as Ensign Jones."

And suddenly everything became clear.  "Never heard of him," Kirk said immediately.

This statement was followed by a sudden pain in Kirk's ankle.  McCoy had kicked him.  "_Jim_!" he hissed.

"Well," Kirk said, relenting, "maybe the name does sound vaguely familiar."

Another, rather battered, figure limped into view on the screen.  It was Jones.  "Hi, Captain, Doctor," he said, waving feebly.

"Ensign," Kirk said, resigned, "what have you done _now_?"

*  *  *

It took a while, but they finally got Jones beamed back aboard the ship, and convinced Ms. Schroedinger that Starfleet would pay for the damages to her roof, so consequently she really _didn't_ need to sue.  That done, the destination was Sickbay.  Jones was already there, having been beamed directly.  McCoy was naturally needed, and Kirk was determined to find out just what Jones had been doing on a roof.

Walking down the corridor towards Sickbay, McCoy noticed something.  "Jim," he said, eyes narrowing, "stop limping."

"Sorry, I was viciously attacked," Kirk said calmly.  If anything, he increased the limp.

McCoy rolled his eyes.  "Oh come on, I didn't kick you _that_ hard."

"Says _you_," Kirk returned.

McCoy watched him for another minute.  "You realize, of course, that I kicked your _right_ leg.  Yet it seems to be your _left_ leg you're favoring.  Remarkable."

"Transposition of pain?" Kirk suggested hopefully.  Clearly, though, the jig was up.

McCoy nodded, smug.  "Must be something like that."

Kirk stopped limping.  It didn't pay.  They were at Sickbay by then anyway.  Inside, Jones was sitting on a biobed, looking much the worse for wear.  He was someone who would definitely be limping.  Legitimately.  McCoy got a scanner, and went to work checking him.  Kirk leaned against the wall, and studied Jones.

"All right, Ensign, I want you to explain this to me slowly and clearly," Kirk said.  "_Why_ were you on a _roof_?"

"I was chasing a squirrel, sir," Jones said promptly.

Kirk and McCoy looked at him.

"A squirrel?" Kirk said.

"Yes, sir."

"_Why_?"

"It stole my walnuts."

Kirk blinked.  McCoy checked his scanner, and had to conclude that, contrary to what it sounded like, Jones had suffered no brain damage.

"Why don't you…tell us the whole story, okay?" Kirk said faintly.  It sounded like it would be _quite_ a story.

"Well, I had five hours leave.  So I saw a few of the sites in the city, and then figured I'd take a walk through this big park I'd heard they had.  I went to the park, wandered for a while, real nice place.  Then I got to feeling kind of hungry, so I bought a bag of walnuts off a vendor.  Cost me ten credits too, but that wasn't so bad because I'm really very fond of walnuts.  So there I was sitting under a tree eating the walnuts, when this squirrel comes along.  And he saunters up to me bold as anything.  And I figured I'd get out of his way, because I've heard about squirrels and diseases, you know.  Unfortunately, I left my bag of walnuts on the ground, and the squirrel grabbed them up and took off.  Well, I wasn't going to let it get away with that, so I chased after it.  I was keeping up with it pretty good, too, chased it all the way out of the park until it got onto that residential street.  And then it went up on the roof.  And I sure wasn't going to let it get away after all that, so I climbed up after it, and, well, the roof wasn't quite as strong as maybe it should have been and I fell through.  So that's pretty much the whole story."

"Ensign," Kirk said slowly, "next time a squirrel steals your walnuts…buy a new bag!  Don't chase it!  Consider that an order!"

"Yes, sir," Jones said.  "Assuming there is a next time, I mean.  D'you think I'm gonna pull through, Doctor?"

"Oh, I expect so," McCoy said dryly.  "You were pretty lucky.  Your worst injury seems to be that you fractured your left tibia, and I'm fairly certain there's a minor crack in your femur.  Also, you seem to have wrenched your Latissimus Dorsi."

"That sounds terrible!" Jones exclaimed, alarmed.

McCoy looked at him.  "It's a broken leg and a twisted back, Ensign."

"Oh…"

Kirk grinned, amused.  "You know, Bones, in your own way, you can be almost as bad as Spock."

McCoy looked pained.  "Please, Jim, I hope not.  Anyway…you've got bruises all up and down your back, but the spinal cord is fine.  It's all pretty easily fixed.  Then there's this black eye…"  McCoy paused, frowning at the scanner's results.  "Well that's odd, this is healing already.  Did you have the black eye before you fell?"

"Oh yeah, that.  I got that a day or two ago.  I had an accident with a mango," Jones said matter-of-factly.

Kirk and McCoy looked at each other.  They mutually decided not to ask _how_ exactly one gets a black eye from a mango.

"You know, those mangoes can be vicious," Jones commented.

Captains do _not_ laugh at junior officers; it is _strictly_ frowned upon, Kirk told himself firmly.  Even so, he had to look at the ceiling for a moment.  McCoy was paying _very_ close attention to his scanner results.

"Well, you ought to be all right in a day or so," McCoy said, after a minute or two.  "Probably have to spend the night in Sickbay though.  Want your usual bed?"

"Sure, might as well if no one's in it."

"He has a usual bed?" Kirk asked, surprised.

"He spends a lot of time here," McCoy said dryly.  "A LOT of time."

"I don't know, I don't spend _that_ much time here," Jones protested.

"Spend more time than I do," Kirk observed.

"He practically spends more time than _I_ do," McCoy said.

"Aw, that's not true," Jones protested further.

"No, but it almost is," McCoy said firmly.  "And I've been meaning to mention that to you.  Ensign, have you ever considered looking into a, well, a _less dangerous_ line of work?"

Jones shook his head.  "No, sir!  Danger is just part of the job, and risks…well, risks are our business!"

"You know, he is right about that," Kirk agreed.  "Because when man first looked at the stars—"  There was another pain in his ankle.  He concluded it would be best for everyone involved if he just stopped talking.

McCoy went on.  "Risks are one thing, getting yourself nice and _dead_ is something else."

Jones thought about it.  "Well, yeah, I guess so.  But I've always wanted to be a security guard, so I guess I'll just stick with it anyway."

"There's lots of other jobs though," McCoy continued.  "Like…a janitor maybe."

Jones grimaced.  "I don't think that would be a good idea."

"Why not?" Kirk asked curiously.

"Well…my uncle's a janitor, and I helped him one summer…spent the next two weeks with my leg in a Regenitor."

"You broke your leg _mopping_ _floors_?"

Jones shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I got a little mixed up, and I wasn't looking where I stepped, and I got my foot stuck in a pail of water.  So then I was hopping around trying to pull it off, and, well, the floor was all soapy, and well…it was pretty bad, I don't think janitorial work is gonna do it for me."

Kirk was looking at the ceiling again.  McCoy coughed a few times.

"Ahem, well, maybe a janitor wouldn't be best.  How about…farming maybe?" McCoy suggested, casting around for something that seemed generally risk-free, at least in terms of injuries.

Jones frowned.  "Bad idea.  I've been on a farm once, and it didn't go well."

Don't ask him, _don't_ ask, Kirk tried to mentally project to McCoy.  Unfortunately, _Spock_ was the telepathic one, so it didn't work very well.

"Maybe I shouldn't ask, but what happened to you on a _farm_?"

"I was maybe ten, with the Pre-Academy Program, Security Division.  And we went on a lot of field trips, I don't know what a farm was s'posed to teach us but we went there.  And it was okay at first, but then I sat on a cow."

Kirk made a sound vaguely like "Mmph" and McCoy was struck with a sudden coughing fit.

Jones looked from one to the other.  "We were supposed to be riding the ponies, but I got a little confused," he tried to explain.  "The cow didn't like it much." He had a puzzled expression.  "I don't really remember what happened after that…"

McCoy had a very firm grim on the edge of the biobed, was very carefully looking at anything but Jones or Kirk, and trying to recite polyatomic formulas to keep himself in a controlled state of mind.

As for Kirk, he was very much aware that if he didn't get out _fast_ all would be lost.  "I'm going to go…uh, back to…uh, to…uh…to the..._bridge_!  Yes, the bridge!"  He nodded, practically shaking with suppressed laughter.  "Uh…carry on…"  He barely made it out the door, completely forgetting to limp.

Jones watched him go, frowning.  "That's a little weird."

"Deserter," McCoy muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing," McCoy said quickly, and then made the fatal error of looking directly at Jones.  The resulting mental image of Jones falling off a cow, arms flailing, was too much.  "I'm going to…go check these results.  In my office.  Be right back."  He left in a hurry.

Jones shrugged.  "Guess I'll tell 'em about getting bitten by the chicken another time."

*  *  *

Spock was walking down the corridor, en route to his quarters, having completed his shift on the bridge.  He came upon Kirk, who was leaning against a wall and laughing very, very hard.  Spock nodded.  "Captain."

"H'lo…Spock," Kirk said, trying to catch his breath.

Spock studied him for a moment.  "Something is amusing?"

Kirk nodded.  "Jones sat on a cow," he explained, and went into another stretch of laughter.

"Ah."  Spock nodded again, and continued on his way.  If the Captain wanted to laugh about cows, it was not any of his business.  Although on the other hand, if there was no actual reason for this hysteria, it could be a bad indication of the Captain's mental state.  Perhaps it would be wise to bring the matter up with the Doctor, who no doubt would know if cows were generally considered to be funny.  Consequently, he changed course slightly, and entered Sickbay.  He passed Ensign Jones, who informed him that Dr. McCoy was in his office.  Spock knocked, and, after being told to do so, entered.

McCoy was sitting at his desk, looking calm but slightly out of breath for no visible reason.  "Something I can do for you, Spock?" he asked.

"Yes.  Please explain what, if anything, is amusing about cows."

McCoy turned mauve.  "Cows!" he gasped out, and then nearly fell out of his chair as a new surge of laughter hit.

Spock considered this a sufficient answer to his question.  Clearly cows were, in some sense, humorous.  Or else _everyone_ was somewhat unstable.

Heehee…if anyone really wants to know where the cows came from I'll explain, but…it's pretty far out there.

Next chapter should be up Wednesday or so, if I don't die of stress from my finals (last final on Tuesday, wish me luck.  And leave a review!)


	28. Have a Happy Thanksgiving

Disclaimer: Star Trek belongs to the great and powerful Paramount.  Not to me, more's the pity.

Blynneda: 27: McCoy, sound like Spock?  Where did I go wrong?!  lol, kidding.  Why did he knock…um, because the setup for offices is different from the setup for quarters?  26: Giant spoons…oh dear.  25: Favorites?  I'm flattered.  Oops, I did misspell, didn't I?  Sorry about that.  19: Spock…bathing suit…heeheehee…  24: You don't like Kirk?  Gasp!  Don't worry, I never kill reviewers.  Although on the other hand, you do fall into the category of 'writer-with-cliffhanger.'  Hmm… Nah, then the conclusion would never get written.  23: Sorry.  I really am 15, a sophomore, virtually the one representative of Trekdom in my school.  They're nice people, but they're sadly lacking in Trek-interest. 22: I did actually try to figure odds out…dunno if I did it right though.  I hate math.  We all have separate lives…don't we?  I hope?  I do.  Honest.  No, really, I do.  21: Drivelize would probably do it.  20: [gawks] You carry my stories around?  Wow…  18: Canned pears and psycho biologists…I'll try.  Too many chapters to write just now as it is though.  I'll get back to you on that one.

Claire: Oops, did I give that impression of Kirk?  Sorry, not my intention.  I know there's more there.  You know what, if you're only up to chapter four, I can see where you'd get that impression.  Read farther along.  Glad you like these though.

Silverfang: I'm flattered you like this so much.  I'll see about Spock and Sarek…I did have an idea about that that never happened…hmm, we'll see.

EmpressLeia: Sounds like me.  Online early in the morning.  As for the finals, my school's got a weird schedule.  Really weird.

Trekker-T: Yeah, the cow probably started walking.  Jones has horrible balance.

Caprice: Ookay, then.  That was a little random even for you.  Must be interesting to have your head on backwards…

Everyone has to make note of this: I did post Wednesday.  6:30 p.m. to be precise, but Wednesday!  Before Thanksgiving.  Most people probably won't read it until Friday anyway, but it is up.

Hanakin, this what you had in mind?  Well, maybe not, but it is kind of based around your suggestion.  Thanks!

Chapter Twenty-Eight:

Have a Happy Thanksgiving

Several days after the cow incident, Kirk and McCoy are talking in Rec Room Three:

"Jim, do you realize what today is?" McCoy asked.

"Do you mean the stardate, or how many days it's been since we got rid of Harry?" Kirk asked idly.

"Neither.  The date on the old earth calendar."

Kirk thought about that.  He'd heard that phrase somewhere, not too long ago…  He frowned.  "If you tell me it's Friday the thirteenth, I'm walking out of here and I'm not looking back."

McCoy laughed.  "No, that's not for a couple weeks.  You really have no idea what today is?"

"As long as it's not Friday the thirteenth, I'm happy.  So what is today?"

"The fourth Tuesday in November."

"And…that should have some meaning for me?"

"No, but do you know what happens in two days?"

"The fourth Thursday in November?"

"Right!"

"So what?!"

McCoy shook his head in mock disapproval.  "And you claim to be from Iowa!  Lincoln would be horrified."

"Lincoln…Thursday…_what_…?"

"Thanksgiving, Jim.  This Thursday is Thanksgiving."

"And…_why_ couldn't you just _tell_ me that?"

McCoy shrugged.  "Oh, I could've, but…"  He waited a beat.  "…it's more fun watching you get confused."

Kirk debated with himself.  He could get mad.  But that was hardly in the spirit of the season.  "So the day after tomorrow is Thanksgiving?"

"Mm-hmm.  We ought to do something."

"Yeah, we should.  How's the tradition go?  Lots of food, turkey, mashed potatoes, and so on?"

"I believe it's something like that," McCoy agreed.

"Although on the other hand, have you noticed virtually none of our friends are Americans?  Doesn't matter usually, but under the circumstances…"

"So what?  Everyone goes in for a big party."

"When you put it like that…"

"Well, we should organize this."

"Yes…you should.  I need to get back to the bridge…"  Kirk started to leave.  He managed three steps before McCoy registered what he'd said.

"Hey, wait a minute here!  _I_ should?"

"Well, it was _your_ idea."

McCoy reverted to sarcasm.  "Oh, gee, in _that_ case…"

Kirk nodded.  "Exactly."  He kept walking.

"You're a _big_ help!"

Kirk looked back.  "So do what I always do.  Delegate."

*  *  *

Four hours or so later, Kirk started to feel just a little bit guilty for that.  Although after all that nonsense about Tuesdays in November McCoy certainly deserved it.  He decided to drop by sickbay though, and see if he really had managed to delegate.  Turned out he had.

"_Some_ people on this ship are more interested in this sort of thing," McCoy said pointedly.  "Didn't take me too long to find some help.  Cook claims it's beneath him to cook stuffing and cranberries, but he said we can use the galley."  McCoy rolled his eyes.  "I swear, that man never makes anything but risotto and osso buko.  Gourmet indeed.  Anyway, I found someone to do the cooking."

[A/N: did you know the Enterprise had a galley and a cook?  I didn't know that either.  But I needed a kitchen of some sort.  Or rather, I will in a few scenes.  And what's a galley without a cook?]

Kirk tried to look innocent.  "That's good."

"Yeah…did you know Scotty could cook?"

"He might've mentioned it once or…"  Kirk stopped.  He blinked.  He reviewed what he thought McCoy had just said.  "Scotty?  Red shirt?  Scottish accent?  In love with his engines?"

McCoy looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded.  "Yeah, that's the one."

"_Scotty's_ cooking Thanksgiving dinner?"

McCoy shrugged.  "It seemed a little strange to me at first too, but he swears he knows how to make mashed potatoes and cranberries and what not.  Says he picked it up somewhere or other."

[A/N: to be honest, I don't think I've ever heard mention of Scotty's cooking skills…but it struck me as amusing to have our oh-so-Scottish crewmember cooking Thanksgiving dinner…]

"Well…if he thinks so."

"He's practically taken over, actually.  Plans to start a menu as soon as he finishes fine-tuning the inertial dampeners.  We haven't decided what would be best for the main dish yet though."

"Main dish?"

"Bird of some sort seems to be traditional.  Turkey, duck…"

An idea struck Kirk.  "Bird?"

"Right, like turkey, duck…"

"Goose," Kirk said with a definite certainty.

McCoy looked puzzled.  "Goose?"

Kirk grinned.  "I think we should have goose for dinner."

McCoy thought about it.  "You know what that is?  That's brilliance!"

"_I_ thought so.  And if Scotty doesn't mind, I volunteer to cook it too."

*  *  *

The next morning, McCoy happened to be on the bridge.  He was chatting with Spock about the coming Thanksgiving plans.

"So we decided on goose for dinner.  Ever had goose, Spock?" McCoy asked idly.

"I am a vegetarian," Spock said.

"Oh right, slipped my mind.  Well, that's okay, we'll just make extra mashed potatoes."

Spock looked at him quizzically.  "What, precisely, is a 'mashed potato?'"

McCoy blinked.  "Well, it's a…potato.  That's…mashed."

"That would explain the name," Spock noted.  "And does mashing the potato in any way alter the flavor?"

"Not really," McCoy admitted.  "A potato is a potato."

"Yes.  The reflexive property of equality applied to vegetables."

McCoy had to think back into his Algebra days to follow that one.  "Oh.  Right.  One is equal to one, a is equal to a, and…"  He paused.  Frowned.  "And what has _that_ got to do with _anything_?!"

"I am simply uncertain as to why anyone would expend energy smashing potatoes when it does not enhance the flavor."

"It's because…because…"  McCoy gave up.  "All right, so I don't know why either, but everyone does!"

Spock nodded.  "Ah.  Tradition.  Remarkable how illogical activities, when considered tradition, become generally accepted."

McCoy decided it was high time he left.  Otherwise he'd be likely to do something entirely out of the spirit of Thanksgiving.

*  *  *

Thanksgiving morning.  Early.  Seven or so.  Scotty had a problem.  He had a list of items he needed bought for the dinner that afternoon.  The _Enterprise_ was at a brief stop-off at a colony world.  Nothing important, just a stop on the way to their next mission.  Shopping could certainly be done planet side.  Except that the…well, never mind _what_, but there was something technobabblish that needed doing in engineering.  And Scotty was an engineer at heart.  Choosing between the two was no contest.

Walking down the corridor en route to engineering, Scotty flagged down a security guard who didn't appear to be doing anything important.  "You, lad, are you busy right now?"

The fellow saluted, and shook his head.  "No, sir.  Not right now.  Something I can do for you, sir?"

"Yes."  Scotty handed him the list.  "Go down to the planet and buy these things for me.  Charge it to Starfleet.  Make sure and get 'em in the galley by ten-thirty or so."

"Yes, sir."

Scotty headed on into engineering, congratulating himself on finding a way to get two things done at once.  Ensign Jones walked in the opposite direction, reading over the list.  He wished he'd asked why the chief engineer wanted cranberries and potatoes of all things.  Not to mention item number nine: 'goose.'

*  *  *

Kirk dropped by the galley about eleven.  Wanted to make sure things were getting off to a smooth start.  Not to mention see if there were any geese that needed cooking.

What he found was chaos.  Plain and simple.  Various ingredients were scattered around the counters in the galley, which was what was expected.  What wasn't expected was Scotty and Jones standing in the middle of the room arguing, while a—Kirk looked twice before he believed it—while a _goose_ flew overhead.

The arguing stopped very quickly when they noticed Kirk.

"Captain," Scotty nodded.

"Captain," Jones echoed.

"What…why…there's…"  Kirk took a breath and started over.  "Please…try to explain to me…why is there a _goose_ flying around?"

They both started talking at once.

"This little nitwit bought a live goose!  A _live_ one!  Whoever heard of gettin' a _live_ goose, I _ask_ ye!"

"He hands me this list, see?  And it's got 'goose' on it!  So I got a goose!  How was I supposed to know he wanted a _dead_ one?!"  Jones' defensiveness was making him bold.

"What else would ye cook with?!"

Jones threw up his hands.  "How am I supposed to know you wanted to cook it?!  All it said was 'goose!'"

"Well if ye'd _thought_ a little—"

"Enough!" Kirk interrupted.  "Now, we're not going to accomplish anything by shouting!  So let's look at this rationally.  It's not exactly pleasant and it'll be a lot of trouble, but there's no reason we can't kill the goose and then cook it, so—"

Jones was appalled.  "You can't kill Gilligan!"

Kirk was mystified. "Gilligan?"

"The goose!"

"The goose is named Gilligan," Kirk murmured.

Scotty groaned.  "He named the goose!"

"I thought it had a nice ring to it," Jones said defensively.

"Wait a minute, Ensign, I thought you were the one shouting about evil geese a few weeks ago when—"

"That was a different goose.  That goose was a minion of Satan.  Gilligan is a nice goose though," Jones explained.

"Oh," Kirk said vaguely.

"Oh, that _does_ it!  I refuse to cook in the company of lunatics!  I'm going back to me engines!"  Scotty stormed out.

"Well fine then," Jones snapped.  "Come on, Gilligan, we'll eat dinner elsewhere."  Jones stormed out.  The goose obligingly followed.

Kirk looked around the emptied room, and pondered this question: why was it that, sooner or later, everything that happened on the _Enterprise_ became _his_ problem?

*  *  *

Kirk was still pondering ten minutes later when Chekov and Uhura happened to drop by.

"So how are the dinner plans coming, Captain?" Uhura asked.

"Do you really want to know?" Kirk asked, looking depressed.

They were mildly taken aback.  "Well, that _is_ why we're here, Captain," Chekov said.

"Well…Scotty was supposed to cook, but he left.  Jones left too, and took the goose with him.  So what we have here is the ingredients for dinner, and no one to cook them."

"We can cook," Uhura pointed out.

"But can you make goose, without a goose?"

"No, but I can make a mean lasagna."

Kirk was doubtful.  "For Thanksgiving?"

Uhura shrugged.  "Hey, you gotta work with what you've got."

Kirk thought about it.  "Well, it'll be different."

"It'll start a new tradition," Uhura suggested.

"Okay, let's go for it," Kirk decided.  "How about you, Chekov?  Any interesting recipes up your sleeve?"

"I can make pumpkin pie," Chekov said proudly.  "It was a Russian inwention."

Kirk decided not to try to argue that one.  "Excellent."

"I could go find Sulu.  He can probably cook something," Chekov suggested.

"You do that.  We'll get started here."

*  *  *

Chekov came back shortly later with Sulu and Spock both.  Uhura was elbow-deep in lasagna noodles and tomato sauce, while Kirk was trying to figure out if he could cook anything with the cranberries.

"Oh, good, more cooks.  I don't suppose either of you know anything about making stuffing?" Kirk asked.

"No, but I know this great rice dish with onions," Sulu volunteered.  "The ingredients are probably around here somewhere."

"Go for it," Kirk told him.  "Let's see, Spock…ever mashed a potato?"

Spock's eyebrow quirked.  "I don't believe so."

"Oh.  Well, it's not too hard.  Potatoes are over there.  Peel, cut and smash.  Pretty simple."

"Yes, Captain."  Spock went to smash the potatoes.

Kirk looked around.  "You know, this might actually work."

*  *  *

It did too.  By three o'clock everything was made and out.  Everyone was there too.  McCoy had arrived early enough to help make gravy for the potatoes Spock smashed.  Scotty was convinced to come back from the engine room.  Jones showed up a bit late, having gone back to the planet to release Gilligan in a wildlife preserve.  It turned into quite a cheerful party even if the usual menu hadn't been followed in the slightest.

"Well, it didn't turn out to be very traditional, did it?" McCoy commented to Kirk as the party progressed.

"I don't know, I think we caught the spirit of it," Kirk mused, looking around.  "Good food, good friends.  Sounds pretty traditional to me."

Happy Thanksgiving everybody!  (Or if you don't celebrate Thanksgiving, have a great weekend anyway!)


	29. A New Mission

[dances around room] It's here it's here it's here!  Christmas vacation is finally here!  It's the most wonderful time of the year!  Stories for posting, marshmallows for toasting, and—oh wait, you didn't click in here to listen to me sing, did you?  Wait, let me guess!  You're looking for a new chapter!  I just happen to have one!  Had the first half written since Thanksgiving, but then my lovely teachers ALL decided to pile us up with work just before Christmas vacation, isn't that wonderful of them?  Anyway, it's _finally_ written!

But before I get completely away from Christmas, I have to stick in a little free advertising.  I don't anticipate a 'React' Christmas chapter, but I do have a story up under Star Trek: Other titled "How the Klingons Stole Christmas."  I think you'll find it amusing.

Now, of course, I must reply to all those lovely reviews I got (anyone even remember what they wrote anymore, after three weeks? ^_^)  Speaking of which, we broke two hundred, didn't we?  How awesome is that?  You guys are the greatest! 

Grace: Believe me, I really wanted to post too.  But…teachers are crazy.  Insane.  Totally bonkers.

Silverfang: Q…hmm, funny you should mention Q because— [claps hand over mouth] nope, not saying it, never mind, ignore me.

Smenzer: [grins] I always love hauling in another person to read my insanity.  I don't know when Bones will look at Jones' psych file, but there is a reference to Jones' psych coming up.

Blynneda: [blinks] Iowa…mixed up…what?  [rereads line] Oh, whoops, did I imply Lincoln was from Iowa?  No, no, two separate thoughts here.  Kirk is from Iowa, therefore American.  Thanksgiving was made a national holiday during Lincoln's presidential term.  Lincoln was from…Illinois, I think?  Yes, Spock, discovers it's all about the texture.  That's in a scene that somehow didn't quite get written, in which Spock single-handedly eats half the mashed potatoes.

Keridwen: Naw, she didn't ask me about Thanksgiving.  We ought to drag her over here anyway though, that would be fun.  Not feasible, but fun.  Anyway, I get the feeling you liked Spock smashing the potatoes. ^_^

Emp: I know.  Everything happens to Jones.  He's doing pretty well in this chapter, actually.

Trekker-T: Oh yes, _cooking_ the potatoes!  McCoy explained that part when he arrived, after he recovered from laughter that Spock of all people was making the mashed potatoes of all things.

Elf: Chopsticks?!  Oh wow, that would be sort of difficult, wouldn't it?

Hanakin: Naw, I had a feeling it wasn't _quite_ what you were thinking but…[shrugs] it _was_ a holiday party gone wrong. ^_^

Ael: Hmm, maybe I was more traditional than I thought.  Judging by several of you, nontraditional is traditional. [shrug]  Live turkey, eh?  _That_ must have been interesting.

Whateveryournameis,I'veofficiallygivenup…okay, okay, Tricksy Hobbitses: the word 'appalled' _is_ vaguely amusing…reminds me of a line in…let me think, I believe it was "Eugenics Wars."  Wonderful book.  Anyway, Kirk leaves Spock in command at one point, says he's glad he can trust him or something like that.  Spock says, I quote, "I would be appalled if you had thoughts to the contrary."  So I'm sitting here, appalled.  I mean, really!  Spock!  _Appalled_!   Mildly disturbed yes, but _appalled_?!  Never!  Okay, I am soooo far off topic by now…amazing how that happens.

Silverfang: Now, tell me the truth here.  You're a member, aren't you?  A member of what, you ask?  Why, the SPCR!  The Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Redshirts!  Yeah, yeah, I'll be nicer to Jones.  Remind me next chapter to tell you a little story about how I'm _not_ being mean to Jones in regard to these coming chapters.  You'll see.

Okay, I think that's everything.  Maybe we can actually get to the chapter.  But first…

I just want to refer to a quote by Khan.  It's about a certain dish.  Best served cold.  Keridwen, Blynneda, and especially the one who keeps changing her name: this one's for you.  Everyone else, you got caught in the crossfire.  I hope you enjoy anyway.

Chapter Twenty-Nine:

A New Mission

_Kirk was very happy.  Jones was very worried.  McCoy was muttering dire forebodings, and Scotty was checking, double-checking, and triple-checking pretty much everything.  The cause for all this?  Their latest mission; patrolling near the Klingon Neutral Zone:_

Spock was a bit confused about something.  And as he was most often confused by the Doctor, that was the logical place to go for explanation.  Which is why he was in Sickbay this particular morning.

"Everyone aboard is absolutely certain that we will, sooner or later, be in a battle with Klingon ships."  Spock seemed faintly surprised by this state of affairs.

McCoy rolled his eyes.  "And you know why?  That's because sooner or later—probably sooner—we _will_ be." McCoy seemed to feel it was the most obvious thing in the galaxy.

"Federation ships have been known to patrol the Klingon Neutral Zone for weeks or months without ever engaging in battle," Spock pointed out.  "The entire purpose of neutral zones is to prevent conflict."

"Sure.  _Other_ ships," McCoy agreed.  "But _this_ is the _Enterprise_."

"I am aware of that fact.  What bearing does that have on the issue?"

McCoy rolled his eyes.  "Oh, come on, Spock!  We're the _Enterprise_!  We get into trouble!  It's inevitable.  We visit an apparently uninhabited world, there's sure to be weird and hostile aliens running around.  We try to visit Earth, we'll bump into a time warp and wind up in 1960.  We patrol near the Klingon Neutral Zone, and we're going to fight Klingons.  It _always_ happens."

"Therefore, according to the Law of Averages, it is only more likely that this time everything will be peaceful."

McCoy shrugged.  "Theoretically, maybe.  In actuality?  It's a lot like Murphy's Law.  'Everything that can go wrong will go wrong.'"

"That statement is not based in logic," Spock observed.

"Glad to hear it," McCoy said blithely.  "It applies the same way to us.  Anything that _can_ happen to the _Enterprise_ _will_ happen.  It's just the way things are."

"You are in rare form today, Doctor.  Your argument is completely, entirely, and unashamedly illogical," Spock observed.

"But true," McCoy countered.  "And you know what, I'll make you a bet on it too."

Spock's eyebrow rose.  "A bet?"

"Yes, a bet.  Next time we get to a halfway civilized planet, you, me, Jim, and anyone else we happen to drag along are going to dinner.  If Klingons show up, you pay.  No Klingons, I pay.  Agreed?"

"The odds are not in your favor."

"_I'll_ worry about that.  Agreed?"

Spock considered for a moment, then nodded.  "Agreed."

*  *  *

[A/N: We're going to have a radical departure, and try to be serious for a while.  Can you imagine?  I haven't done this since…never.  I have written serious stories, but I have never posted anything serious.  Amazing.  Well, nothing like a new experience.  Be nice, everyone.  I'll be funnier next chapter.]

A week passed.  No sign of Klingons.  Yet.

And then it happened.  Two weeks in.  That fateful day, that fateful moment, that fateful sound all Starfleet officers know and dread.

"Red alert!"  Sirens whooped, red lights flashed.  "Battle stations!  Battle stations!"

Crewmembers are very rarely _at_ battle stations when the call to battle stations goes out.  Consequently, what you don't see when the camera stays to the bridge, is a _lot_ of people running a _lot_ of directions.  (Also quite a few collisions.)  You see, there's no telling where a person might be when the red alert goes out.  In this particular instance, Kirk, for example, happened to be in engineering.  And before Scotty could finish saying, "Looks like a wee bit of trouble now," Kirk was sprinting for the bridge.  Or rather, the turbolift that would get him to the bridge.

In under a minute and a half Kirk was stepping out on the bridge, before the turbolift doors were even half open, and asking, "Report.  Anyone."

Spock stood up from the central chair.  "Three Klingon birds-of-prey just came out of the neutral zone, and are fast approaching."

If McCoy had been there, he undoubtedly would have asked how fast.  And Spock, undoubtedly, would've known.  But McCoy was in Sickbay, and Kirk was preoccupied by the Klingons, and didn't really care _how_ fast they were arriving, just that they _were_.

Kirk settled into his command chair.  He was apprehensive, of course; no one likes it when the ship's in trouble.  And yet…_this_ was why he had become a captain.  _This_ was what it was all about, not ferrying pineapples and minor ambassadors.

Jones chanced to be on the bridge as well.  He'd been there when the alert started, and hadn't trusted his knees to let him run anywhere else.  He sunk into a seat at the back of the bridge, he hoped out of the way.  He resisted the urge to hide under the console.  This, oh yes, _this_ was why he should've listened to Dr. McCoy and become a janitor.  Or something.  No question.

You may have noticed something about Jones.  If not, allow me to explain.  Every time he gets into trouble he panics, wonders why he didn't get out of security when he had the chance, and figures he's done for.  However, he never makes a connection between each incident.  So every time he survives, he figures, well, that's okay after all, now there's no reason not to stay.

But who can dwell on Jones' psyche while there are Klingons fast approaching?

"Shields are up, sir.  Should we bring weapons online?" Chekov asked.

Kirk considered.  "Not yet.  Let's see if we can find out what's happening first.  Uhura, hail the Klingons."

"Hailing frequencies open, sir."

"This is James T. Kirk, captain of the starship _Enterprise_.  Identify yourself," Kirk said crisply.

As generally happens when they hail people, the person being hailed turned up on the main viewscreen.  It was, to no one's surprise, a Klingon captain.  His expression was somewhat less than friendly.  "I am Captain Kagon, of the House of Dusor, commanding the Klingon bird-of-prey _Kaldane_.  And you have currently violated the treaty by entering Klingon space."

Kirk blinked, but hid his surprise well.  "You're mistaken.  This area is part of the Federation."

Kagon smiled unpleasantly.  "I am _not_ mistaken.  This area is in dispute."

Kirk gestured to Uhura, who cut audio for a minute.  "Why," Kirk asked the bridge in general, "wasn't I aware of that little detail?"

"We discussed it some time ago, Captain," Spock commented.  "This area is in dispute, and is currently tied up in the court system.  You concluded that we should go through this area regardless, because the Federation currently considers itself the owner.  In addition, we would be unlikely to encounter Klingons and, I quote: 'if we do, that's simply the risk we take.  And risks are our business.  When man first looked at the stars—"

"Right, right, I remember," Kirk cut him off.  Oh, right, _that_ little unimportant-sounding detail the bureaucracy was dealing with.  How could _that_ cause problems?  Funny how risks looked better _before_ they blew up on you.  Oh well, if risks _never_ went bad they weren't very risky.  He gestured at Uhura again, and the audio returned.  "Now, Captain…Kagon, was it?  It looks to me like we're at something of an impasse.  This area may be in dispute, but Federation maps clearly mark it as being part of the Federation."

"And Klingon maps show it as being part of the Klingon Empire," Kagon commented.

"We don't use Klingon maps."  An edge had entered Kirk's voice.

"_We_ don't use Federation maps," Kagon countered.  "Clearly, the only way to settle this is war."

Kirk had a strange feeling about this.  He knew Klingons tended to go to war with little provocation, but this was a bit extreme.  "Has it occurred to you that neither one of us really _cares_ about this sector of space?  Or that our respective governments will probably argue about it in the courts for the next twenty years, and whether we kill each other today or not won't make any difference at all?"

Kagon nodded.  "It has, Kirk."

"Ah.  Then explain to me why we're fighting.  I like to understand motivations and things before I start randomly shooting at people."  Well, granted, he didn't _always_… well, he didn't a _lot_, but it was much easier to be lax on things like that when one was planetside and the ship itself wasn't in any particular danger.  If he was going to take the _Enterprise_ into battle against a Klingon who had given every indication of being either irrational, insane, or just extremely bloodthirsty, he'd like to know why.

The Klingon smiled, and Kirk was somehow reminded of a wolf.  "Let me make this simple.  I have one goal.  I want to destroy you, Kirk."

There was a general intake of breath around the bridge.

Nothing quite like a blunt Klingon.

Especially one with three ships to back up his bluntness.

Either Kirk was missing something important, or Kagon had insane delusions of grandeur.  Either way wasn't a positive.  Years of practice kept Kirk's pose casual.  "Well.  How interesting.  However, I've heard that it is often preferable to _want_ rather than to _have_.  Illogical, but true.  Therefore, perhaps some other time."

"No, Kirk.  I've waited long enough.  Not some other time.  _Today_."

And with that the viewscreen blinked back to a view of the starfield.  And the three Klingon ships.

[A/N: If the Klingons' motivations and whatnot are a wee bit muddled at this point, I had a lot of trouble with this scene.  Explanations are coming later, I promise.]

"We seem to be in for it," Kirk commented.  If he was trying to lighten the mood, it didn't help much.

"The Klingons are charging their weapons," Chekov reported.

Also clear to everyone who happened to glance at the viewscreen, the Klingons were moving into battle formation.

"Phasers online," Kirk ordered.  "Evasive maneuvers."

The next four minutes were fast and furious.  The Klingons were good.  No one bird-of-prey stood a chance, but three together, all well coordinated, they might have had a slight edge.  The _Enterprise_ held her own, of course.  They scored several direct hits, and at least one bird-of-prey had to have systems failing all over the ship.  It was still limping along in formation though.  The Klingons made a few scores too, and the _Enterprise_ had shields down to sixty percent.  Nothing significant had gone though.

But then, there was trouble.  The Klingons coordinated their fire very carefully, scored some rough hits in the same places, aft shields went out briefly, and the next time Kirk ordered Chekov to fire, he got no results.  Chekov fired, but the phasers were ignoring all requests to actually shoot anything.

Clearly, phasers were out.

Kirk, of course, called engineering.  "Scotty, I _need_ those phasers!"

The chief engineer sounded a bit harried.  "Three minutes, Captain!  It's the best we can give ye!"

If it had sounded like Scotty was right next to the comm unit, Kirk would've kept arguing.  But it sounded like he was shouting from across the room, a pretty good indication that he was working on the phasers even as he spoke.  Which was a pretty good indication that, for once at least, three minutes really _meant_ three minutes.

"All right, but be fast!"  Kirk flipped off the comm link, and turned his full attention back to the battle, mind working furiously.  With shields at 60% and no phasers, they didn't stand a chance for three minutes.  Engines were still working though.  "Mr. Sulu, can you outrun them long enough for the phasers to get back online?"

The helmsman's mouth was set in a grim line.  "I can try, sir.  Their formation has us pretty well boxed in…"

"Do what you can," Kirk urged, other ideas and strategies flitting through his head, every one hitting a dead end.

"There's a gap there," Sulu gasped, and the ship dove.

A couple of rolls and twists, a lurch as the ship was hit again, and then they were past with empty space ahead.  Empty of ships, that is.  They were less than a minute from the nearest star though, and its long string of planets.

"Maneuvers around the planets," Kirk ordered.  "See if we can confuse them long enough to—"

"Aye, sir."

They slipped past the nearest planet, a cold dead rock, Klingons howling in pursuit behind.  Made a sharp turn around another planet with a couple moons, and gained a little more time.  By the time they were speeding towards a large gas giant, the Klingons were pretty far behind.  Kirk had a vague thought that they were a little _too_ far back, but dismissed that as ridiculous.  Sulu swung them by the gas giant, a large orange and red sphere.

And then all hell broke loose.

Four Klingon cruisers surged out of the wispy fringe of the gas giant.  Dead ahead of the _Enterprise_.

"Ambush.  They were in ambush," Kirk murmured dazedly.  No use shouting 'shield's up.'  They were up; at low strength.  Phasers were still out.  "Evasive!"

Sulu tried.  But as Kirk said it, and as Sulu tried to swing the ship around, they and everyone else knew it wouldn't help.  The Klingons were just too close.  All eyes were riveted to the viewscreen as the four Klingon ships loomed closer and closer.  And then they were gone from view, hidden in a massive fireball of Klingon disruptor fire.

The ship lurched and bucked, straining to hold together against the power being flung at her, and Kirk lost his grip on his chair arm.  He pitched forward, to lie unmoving on the deck.  Chekov and Sulu were knocked against their consoles, while Uhura was flung against the upper railing.  Spock, with an iron grip and excellent reflexes, kept to his chair and even managed to grab Jones as he went tumbling by.  Alarms went wild, consoles sparking and smoking.  The lights overhead sputtered and died, and the bridge went dark.

*  *  *

The alarms were tripled in engineering.  Lights and sirens flashed.  Engineers ran every direction at once, and Scotty stood near the phaser controls and shouted at the ship, "All right, already!  I hear ye!"  The sirens didn't listen.  Scotty looked around, and shook his head sadly.  "Och, me poor lass…"

And then it was back to work, to salvage and fix whatever of this mess they could.

*  *  *

And, unknown to everyone aboard, in a small, dark, deserted corridor not far from Sickbay, shimmering red pillars, one after another till there were twenty or more, were coming into being.  

The Klingons were beaming aboard.

It's raining here.  No snow.  But it's still pretty cold.

Will be posting again soon.

Happy Holidays!


	30. A Klingon Menace

Disclaimer: Star trek…not mine.  Sorry.  If it was mine…well, the first movie wouldn't have existed, Kirk never would have become an admiral but instead become the captain of some other ship, Decker would have lived, Spock would be an only child, and the bridge?  Never happened.

Whatever your name is: What did _you_ do?  Chapters 1, 4, 11, 12, 14, 16, 19, 20, 21, 22, and especially, most of all, and in particular 17.  And those are only the _really_ bad ones.  _That_ is what you did.

Trekker-T: Yeah, the ambush was pretty much the only way I could think of for the Klingons to win…  : )  And I think Spock was probably wearing one of those hats with the earflaps.  In the Christmas story, I mean.

Silverfang: If I hurt the _Enterprise_ permanently…Are you threatening me?  Interesting to be on _this_ side of it…anyway, I have a little story for everyone in the SPCR.  You've probably caught on by now, this business with the Klingons is going to go a few chapters.  You know what the initial inspiration for all this was?  (I warn you, my mind works in strange ways.)  I was at my aunt's house, my younger cousins were fooling around.  I can't remember why right now, but one of them was hiding in an empty cabinet.  That set me thinking.  What if Jones got locked in a cupboard?  The question then became: who would lock Jones in a cupboard?  Answer: Klingons!  And that really is where this whole thing came from.  But, out of consideration for certain people who I know would object, I have since cut that scene, and may even give Jones a wee bit of glory.  : ) Happy?  Oh, and Einstein and Galileo?  That's very sweet, but are you _trying_ to give me a swelled head? : )

Blynedda: Oh great, now I've done it.  _More_ creative cliffhangers?  Oh well…we shall see.  When _are_ you going to resolve that last one anyway?  Hmm?  Oh yes.  I have no idea why they're going to pretend the snowman is a circus clown.  How should I know?  I live in California, remember?  Ask Emp, maybe she knows.

Emp: Merry Christmas! : )  I don't think Scrooge is quite applicable…

Grace: I'm very fond of Dickens.  And Spock in a snowball fight?  Couldn't resist.

I said this chapter would be funny, didn't I?  We-ell…I swear, I had no control here.  I was just writing along, and next thing I knew the chapter was finished without me getting to the funny part that was supposed to be the main part of the chapter…next chapter.  I will be hilarious next chapter, and get in some action too.  I needed to do this one to set things up for the future though…anyway, here it is, enjoy.

Chapter Thirty:

A Klingon Menace

_Not too long after the close of our last chapter_:

Kirk opened his eyes.  The fact that he had eyes and could open them seemed a pretty good indication that he was still alive, and the _Enterprise_ was still in one piece.  Beyond those cheering thoughts though, there wasn't much.  Eyes open or not, he couldn't see much of anything.  He was still on the bridge, presumably next to his command chair where he'd been carelessly tossed when that last burst of weapon fire hit.  He could see the bulk of the chair to his right.  But between the dim and flickering emergency lights and the low-hanging smoke everywhere, well, he couldn't see as far as the forward stations.

Kirk pulled himself up to a sitting position.  "Everybody still alive?" he called, then coughed on the smoke.

A voice from what he judged to be the upper ramp.  "Surely it has occurred to you—cough—that if anyone is not alive they could not possibly inform you of that?"

Kirk shook his head, but didn't judge it necessary to come up with a retort. "Glad to know you're still here, Spock.  How about everyone else?  Uhura?"

"Here, Captain.  I'm all right."

"Good.  Jones?"

"I'm okay…I guess."  The ensign didn't sound very sure of that fact, but Kirk judged that if he could answer at all he couldn't be too bad off.

"Sulu?"

"Here, sir.  I'm fine."

"Chekov?"

"Aye, Captain.  Takes more than Klingons to get a _Russian_ down."

Kirk grinned in spite of himself.  "Well, that's one piece of luck."  And with that they were back to business.  Kirk stood up, located his chair, and sat down again.  He felt better there.  "Anyone got the faintest idea what to do about the lights?  Not to mention _sensors_, those Klingons have got to still be hanging around out there.  Where's engineering?  I want damage reports and—"

"Sir, my board's dead," Uhura said.  "I can't get _anything_, I think intership comm is down—"

A strangely accented voice came over the speakers.  "Can you hear me, Captain Kirk?  I certainly hope so."

"_Someone's_ hooked into the comm," Kirk said.  It was stating the obvious, but he couldn't help that.

Uhura shook her head helplessly, a movement Kirk almost saw.  The smoke was finally clearing.  "My board is dead, sir.  Not damaged, down entirely.  Either the entire system is out, or my board's been cut off by the auxiliary control room."

Worries about the comm went to the background as the voice went on.  "It would be such a shame, Kirk, if you were dead and never knew what happened to your precious _Enterprise_."

Kirk didn't like this.  He didn't like this at _all_.

"Do you know who this is, Kirk?  This is Kagon."  

Forget Klingons hanging around.  They were already here.

"My men already have control of your…I believe it's the auxiliary control room.  Judging by the sign on the door.  It is only a matter of time—and a very short time—before we possess the rest of your ship.  I advise you to surrender.  All of you.  Bringing 'the finest crew in Starfleet' back to the Klingon Empire would get me a promotion for certain, and restore glory to my family's name."  Kagon had been maintaining an oily sort of politeness.  His voice now went cold.  "But, if necessary, I will kill every last man and woman aboard this ship.  Of _that_, you may be certain."

There was a long pause.  Kagon probably intended for his words to sink in and have their full value for intimidation.  All it did was allow time for Kirk to get mad.  And when Kirk gets mad…well, _I_ wouldn't want to be Kagon.

When Kagon went on, he was back to being polite.  "One other thing.  I hope none of you were injured in our little battle.  You see, I've taken your medical staff hostage."

You could have heard a pin drop in the bridge.  If anyone had been foolish enough to drop a pin in the dark.

"They could be bluffing," Sulu ventured hopefully.

"Not likely," Kirk said shortly.

"Hostages are useless if their existence is unproven.  So…"  Kagon sounded like he was shouting over his shoulder.  "You!  Get over here and say something!"

A new voice came on.  A very familiar one, talking faster than he usually bothered.  "Twenty-eight Klingons, all with disruptors," McCoy's voice rasped over the comm.  "_Give 'em hell, Jim_!  Give 'em—aulp!"

Silence.  On the speakers and on the bridge.  [A/N: Tempting to stop the chapter here.  I won't though.]  And then a collective sigh of relief went up with the muttered words over the comm, "If you didn't _want_ me to say anything, you shouldn't have _told_ me to!"

Kagon came back over the line.  "I advise you to surrender, Kirk, and quickly.  It will happen eventually, and the sooner you bow to the inevitable the simpler for everyone involved.  Kagon out."

Silence.  Everyone on the bridge looked at Kirk.  Kirk seemed unaware of the scrutiny, and was staring meditatively into space.  Uhura finally broke the stillness.

"Captain?"

He glanced over at her.

"What are we going to do?"

Kirk smiled.  It wasn't an altogether pleasant smile.  And it didn't bode well for the Klingons.  "Do?  We're going to give them hell, of course."

*  *  *

Kirk had no plan.  Kagon, however, did.  Had one since long before Kirk even knew a Klingon named Kagon existed.

Kagon had been following, step by carefully crafted step, a well-worked plan.  He wanted to destroy Kirk.  To gain glory.  To restore honor to his family name.  He knew many, many others had gone up against Kirk before, and failed.  He did not intend to do the same.

And so he had been planning and scheming and plotting in theory for well over two years.  Planning and scheming and plotting to definite ends for the three weeks since the Klingon Bureau of Intelligence (the KBI) had passed the news that the _Enterprise_ was patrolling the Neutral Zone.  The initialization had nearly been the hardest part.  But he had called in every favor ever due anyone in his entire family, fought two duels and threatened three more, lied a bit and cheated a bit more, and finally got hold of six ships and crew.  His ship, the _Kaldane,_ made seven.  They were old ships and new crew, but they had the firepower and the numbers, and that was what he wanted.

And then he had waited.  Perhaps not patiently, but he had done it.  Waited until the _Enterprise_ was in the contested area so that the Empire would have some nonsense about treaties to hand the Federation, and then he had struck.  Carefully still though.  One of his ships was badly damaged, but he had succeeded in his objectives.  Damage the _Enterprise_ just enough to send them running for time.  Make sure the only gap in the formation sent them towards the planets.  And then…ambush.

But he didn't destroy the _Enterprise_, no, he wanted more than that.  His goals were specific.  Capture the _Enterprise_, take the crew alive.

So the _Enterprise_ was damaged but whole, the crew shaken but for the most part alive, and Kagon proceeded to Step Two.

The _Enterprise_ was no longer a threat, but it was still a problem, if his full goals were to be achieved.  Kagon would settle for nothing less.

He couldn't destroy the ship, he couldn't kill the crew.  He didn't have enough men to go onto the ship and physically take everyone captive.  He couldn't leave the crew on the ship while he hauled it back to the Empire, Kirk would undoubtedly get it running again, or else hit self-destruct and probably take out a couple Klingon ships with him.  No, what he needed was for everyone to peaceably surrender so he could round them up and lock them away at his leisure.

Which is why Step Two meant beaming aboard with a small force and taking over the Auxiliary Control Room.  Also taking a handful of hostages.  Hostages weren't much use with Klingon captains, but Starfleeters were notoriously sentimental about their crewmembers.  And then he was back to waiting.  He doubted Kirk would surrender immediately, but he wanted to see what he did do.  And then he would move on with his plans.

Beyond there, things were a bit less well defined.  But he would succeed.  Of that he had no doubt.  Full and complete success.  He would permit nothing less.

*  *  *

They didn't stay long on the bridge.  First because plans and schemes were clearly in order, and it is difficult to plan and scheme when you can't see the people you're planning and scheming with and everyone keeps coughing on the last wisps of smoke drifting around.  And also, calm as he outwardly was, Kirk was somewhat less than pleased.  And if he didn't get a chance to kick at a few Klingons soon, the furniture was going to start suffering.  And finally, much as Kirk hated to admit it, with Klingons at the auxiliary control room, the bridge had become strategically insignificant.

So they left.

As previously noted, Kirk had no plan.  He wanted to rescue his doctor—and the rest of the medical staff, of course—do something suitably horrible to Kagon, and send the rest of the Klingons crawling back to their Empire.  Unfortunately though, it is one thing to say you're going to give the Klingons hell.  Determining how exactly you're going to do it is quite another.

To start, they divided into three groups—Kirk and Jones, Spock and Uhura, Chekov and Sulu—with the intent to do a bit of reconnaissance.  Determine where the Klingons were located, see if they could find any other people to add to their woefully small force, and come up with anything resembling an actual plan.  Also of importance was to get into an armory and get some weapons.  Between the six of them, they had one phaser.  Kirk, practically by chance, had been wearing a phaser when the alert first went off.  Jones, of course, was a security guard.  He had had one, but had managed to lose it somewhere during the course of the battle with the Klingons, probably when he'd been thrown out of his chair.  They briefly considered going back, but for all they knew the bridge was still without lights, and looking for a phaser in the dark was fairly pointless.  So they continued on.

After a half hour or so, they met up again in Sickbay.  They had previously decided that would be a good place to meet, as the Klingons had obviously been there already and probably weren't there anymore.  Everyone made it back.  Thanks to their extensive knowledge of the _Enterprise_, they had managed to see without being seen.

Things didn't look any too good though.

"Much of Kagon's forces seem to be patrolling the corridors in pairs," Spock reported.

There were nods of affirmatives around the group.

"I wish we knew how many 'much' is," Kirk commented.  "Could give us some idea of how many are in the control room."  He idly scratched Surak's head as he spoke.  The cat had come bounding out from under a biobed when they'd entered.

"He can't have more than five or six in the control room.  It's not that big," Sulu pointed out.

"True.  All right, let's assume roughly twenty out and about," Kirk decided.  "Anyone bump into…anyone?"

Heads started shaking.

"Whatewer else he's done, Kagon's definitely figured out how to seal off parts of the ship," Chekov complained.  "No use trying to get into Engineering, or the Shuttlebays, or practically anywhere but right around here."

"And every crew's quarters we tried was locked up," Sulu added.

"So essentially, we're on our own," Kirk concluded.

Spock nodded.  "Essentially.  There are no doubt other crewmembers free throughout the ship, but as we have no way of getting in touch with them, it would be very difficult to coordinate attacks."

Kirk nodded.  "Right.  As to attacks…they're in pairs, we ought to be able to take out a couple Klingons at a time, right?  If we go with guerilla warfare, we can accomplish something."

Jones frowned, confused.  "Gorilla?"

"No, guerilla," Uhura told him.  "Hit and run.  Pick off one or two at a time.  That sort of thing."

"How exactly do you propose handling guerilla warfare against armed Klingons when we have only one phaser?" Spock asked.  "The armories are completely sealed as well."

Kirk grimaced.  "When I figure that part of it out, you'll be the first to know."

"Too bad the goose isn't here," Jones said idly.  "That first one could've taken on all twenty-eight Klingons easy.  Or Harry Mudd, he'd've tricked 'em all somehow."

Kirk frowned.  "I think we can manage _without_ Harry Mudd, Ensign."

Jones flinched, and nodded vigorously.  "Sure, of course, yes, sir, right, definitely, sorry I mentioned it."

Kirk sighed.  "At ease, Ensign."

"Aye, sir."

It's funny where ideas come from.  The strangest places sometimes.  Thinking about the goose led to Kirk's dwelling on recent happenings on the ship.  And from there, came the beginnings of a plan.  It was absolute madness.  The whole group was in agreement there, from Spock on down to Jones.  But, some pretty crazy plans had worked in the past.  No reason why this one should be the exception.

So they worked it out, refined a detail here and there, and finally came up with a complete, if mad, plan.

"So I'll take the rec room, and Jones, you be in the Mess Hall.  Everybody else clear on what they're doing?" Kirk asked.

Nods of confirmation.  Everyone looked sure of their parts.  Except for Jones, who looked just a wee bit freaked.

"You know, Ensign, you could stay here and man the fort," Kirk said gently.  "One of us could—"

Jones shook his head vehemently.  "No, sir!  I can do this, I am a security guard, I will be fine.  Sir."  He still looked freaked, but determined too.

Kirk nodded.  "All right then.  'Man the torpedoes and full speed ahead.'"

"Torpedoes, Captain?"

A sigh.  "Never mind, Spock."

That done, onto Chapter 31!  This will be fun…


	31. Captain Kirk Strikes Back

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Gene Roddenberry and owned by Paramount.  No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  (Thought I'd have a legitimate disclaimer for _once_ in my life.)

Silverfang: [files protection lawsuit…kidding, really.] What country do I want?  Well, Ireland is very nice.  Or Italy.  Either one would be good.  Y'know, you're the third person who's offered me a country.  Anyway, thank you for the generous offer.

Emp: The plan should be interesting, lol…hmm, Surak saving the day.  Not happening here, but perhaps some other chapter…

Trekker-T: No, he really doesn't, but it was a good way to get a slightly odd plan.

WhateverYourNameIsToday: Is _too_ an excuse!  : ) And what a _cute_ tribble…

I lost control here.  This chapter was never supposed to be this long.  But I started writing, and it kept going, and, well, here we are.  Enjoy!

Chapter Thirty-One:

Captain Kirk Strikes Back

_Less than an hour after the close of our last chapter:_

Two Klingons walked down the corridor of the _Enterprise_.  They were confident, sure that it was only a matter of time before the remaining crew who weren't sealed into various parts of the ship would be rounded up and accounted for.  That done, they could begin going into various sections and deal with those crewmembers, one section at a time.  Victory was assured.  They were also mildly frustrated though.  Primarily because they themselves had yet to see any member of Starfleet that they could capture.  That was about to change.

They were coming up on an intersection of corridors.  When they were perhaps ten yards away a human in a gold shirt came into view, walking down the crossing corridor.  He took a few steps across the intersection, then saw the Klingons.  He, quite sensibly, ignored the Klingons' shouts to halt, and ran down the corridor in the direction he'd come from.  The Klingons followed in hot pursuit behind, disruptors drawn.

They had nearly caught up when he ducked through a doorway.  The Klingons followed, and then they had him.  Cornered in what looked to be some sort of lounge, judging by the couches and computer terminals.  The Klingons aimed their disruptors, and their expressions very clearly indicated they would not hesitate to fire if provoked.

"Hands up!" one ordered.

The man complied.  "So.  You caught me.  Now what?"

"You're lucky," one informed him.  "Kagon wants prisoners today—"  He broke off as his companion elbowed him.  "_What_?"

"Kortok, do you know who he _is_?"

Kortok frowned.  "_No_, Sogh, and I don't know what difference it makes anyway."

Sogh pointed at the man, who had an expression of absolute innocence.  "That's Kirk!"

"Who, me?"

Kortok studied him.  "Hey, he _is_ Kirk!"

He was.  Kirk shrugged.  "Okay, so I'm Kirk.  What difference _does_ it make?"

"It makes a big one," Sogh informed him.  "Kagon'll kill _you_ for certain."

Kirk looked vaguely regretful.  "Well, I guess we all have to go some time.  But before you haul me off to be killed, will you at least grant me a last request?"

The Klingons looked at each other.

"We better not," Sogh decided.  "He's up to something, I've heard about Kirk and his tricks." 

"No last requests," Kortok agreed.

"Well!" Kirk said, outraged.  "That's a fine example of _honor_!  Refuse a man his final request!  And you call yourselves _Klingons_!"

The Klingons looked at each other, uncertain.

"I don't know," Sogh said, "are last requests necessary?"

"I don't know either…what did Kahless say about it?" Kortok asked.

"Yes!  What did _Kahless_ say about it?"

They looked at each other.  Neither seemed to know the answer.  They looked at Kirk.

Kirk blinked.  "Don't look at _me_, _I_ don't know!"

That left them at something of a standstill for a minute or two.  Then one of them finally hit on the brilliant plan of checking his copy of _Kahless Legends for Dummies_, which he just happened to have on hand.  They concluded that Kahless was in favor of last requests as he had granted several.  So Kirk was finally permitted to make his last request.

"There's this website I'm really very fond of.  For my last request, I want to go on that website once more," Kirk explained.

[A/N: I know what you're thinking.  Nooo, not _that_ website!]

The Klingons thought that was a very pointless request, but decided they might as well grant it.  So Kirk got on the nearest computer, did a bit of clicking, and brought up a website.  This website did not happen to be about James Kirk.  It happened to be about Klingons.

The Klingons peered over Kirk's shoulders, one on each side.  

Kortok read the first line on the opening page.  "'The Klingons, originally from the planet Qo'noS, are a humanoid warrior civilization bound by pride, tradition and honor.'"  He grinned.  "Not a bad description."

Sogh kept reading.  "'The belligerent Klingon culture has made them an interstellar power to be respected.'"  He puffed up with pride.  "I like that."

Kirk nodded.  "I'd definitely agree that you're belligerent."  

Kortok read further.  "'The Klingon Empire's history is wrought with violent and bloody conflicts with its chapters written with long passages of war and short periods of peace.'  Kind of sad."

"Yeah.  All that wasted time spent at peace," Sogh agreed.

Kirk gave them a strange look.  Neither one noticed.  He shrugged, and clicked on a link to sketches of Klingon ships.

"Oh, look!  A NuQ'Duj!" Kortok sighed.  "I wanted one of those for my birthday when I was a kid."

"Who didn't?" Sogh agreed.  "And look, a Jach'eng!"

"I'll just move so you have a better view…"  Kirk slipped away from the computer console.  The Klingons ignored him, intent on the screen, their 'prisoner' forgotten.

Kirk waited.  They didn't look at him.  He stepped over to the nearest table, and picked up a 3-D chessboard and came back behind the Klingons.  Then, he hit Sogh over the head with the base of the board.  The Klingon fell to the floor.

"Hey!"  Before Kortok could do much besides shout Kirk hit him as well.  He joined his comrade on the floor.

Kirk smiled.  "_That_ was easy."

It was also easy to drag the two Klingons over to the nearest turbolift, take their disruptors, stick them inside, shut the door, and fiddle with the controls just a bit.  It would take Scotty and his lasers to get that particular turbolift open and working again.  

Kirk headed back to Sickbay to wait for the others to complete their parts of the plan and report back.

(Site in question is the Klingon section of: www.st-armada.com/)

*  *  *

In a different, albeit nearby, section of the ship another pair of Klingons was on the patrol.  Walking down the corridor, they saw a small black metal box.  Being Klingons, their automatic reaction was to draw disruptors.  They decided to investigate before immediately blasting it though.  They approached carefully.  When they were a few feet away, there was a faint click.  A form appeared floating an inch or two above the box.  One of a decidedly ugly woman with flame red hair.  The Klingons recoiled.

She spotted them, and immediately started shrieking in a painfully shrill voice.  "So!  _Klingons_!  You look like barbarian scum!  Just _look_ at the state of your hair!  Have you never heard of _combs_?!  And those beards!  Have you no _scissors_?!"

The Klingons looked at each other.  They raised their disruptors.

"How _dare_ you aim a weapon at a lady?!"

The Klingons jumped.  Almost guiltily.  But they didn't fire.

"Let's patrol another direction," one suggested.

"Yes, let's," the other Klingon agreed quickly.

They turned around and started down a branching corridor.  Walking rather quickly.

"How _dare_ you ignore me?!  Have you no manners at _all_?!  You uncouth, ungentlemanly—!"

The Klingons picked up speed.  They weren't paying much attention to surroundings anymore.  They never noticed the man standing partially concealed in a doorway, but rushed right past.  They presented excellent targets.  A phaser beam shot out once, twice, and two more Klingons hit the deck.

Sulu stepped out, clipping the Captain's phaser back onto his belt.  "I think these Klingons are done for, Mr. Spock."

Spock came out from behind a bend in the corridor beyond the still-shrieking woman.  "I should hope so, Mr. Sulu, as that was the entire purpose of this endeavor."

"Yes, Mr. Spock."

"I believe my computerized holographic projection of Stella Mudd proved effective," Spock commented, studying the hologram critically.

"Effective?  She had them fleeing!"

"Walking quickly, actually.  Had I had more than half an hour to devote to programming, perhaps they would have fled."

Sulu shrugged.  "Well, it worked."

"And just what are _you_ looking at?" the hologram demanded.  "Think you're so marvelous, don't you?  Well, let me tell _you_…"

"How do you turn her off?" Sulu asked quickly.

Spock pressed a button on a small handheld remote control.  The hologram vanished.  Sulu exhaled with relief.

"Well, we'd better stick these Klingons in a turbolift."

"I will do that, Lieutenant.  You should return to Sickbay and report to the Captain."

*  *  *

In the Mess Hall, Jones was arguing with himself.  Two Klingons were coming down the corridor outside, he'd checked a minute ago and seen them in the distance.  He knew what he was supposed to do.  Now he just had to convince himself to do it.

First he pointed out that if he didn't follow the plan the Klingons would probably find him and kill him anyway.  Then he sternly told himself that this was his duty as a Starfleet officer.  Then he reminded himself that Captain Kirk was depending on him to carry out his portion of the plan.  

That last one finally got him to poke his head out the Mess Hall doors.  The Klingons, only a few feet distant, spotted him immediately.  Jones gave a yelp of only half-feigned terror, and retreated.  The Klingons followed.  He was halfway across the Mess Hall, aiming toward the back wall with the replicators, when a voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Hold it!  We've got you covered!"

Jones' hands shot up over his head.  He wasn't armed anyway.  He risked a glance over his shoulder, and saw two very large Klingons with disruptors walking towards him.

Jones inhaled.  This is fine, this is okay, this is what's _supposed_ to happen, he told himself.  "So, you going to kill me straight off?" he asked, as lightly as he could manage.  He surprised himself at how lightly he _did_ manage it.

"Nah," one of the Klingons said.  "Kagon's taking prisoners."

"Oh."  Good.  Problem Number One, the possibility of his immediate death, averted.  That fact lent him strength to ask his next question.  "So, if I'm going to be hanging around here awhile longer, could I get a drink before you haul me off for holding?"

The Klingons looked at each other.  They could respect a drinking man.  It was a Klingon sort of request, to ask for a drink while facing impending captivity.  They nodded.

"All right, but no funny business."

"Thanks."  

Jones willed his legs not to shake, and walked over to the replicators.  The Klingons followed him, disruptors still drawn and pointed vaguely in Jones' direction, but they were relaxed.  Jones had a harmless look about him much of the time.

Jones stepped up to the replicators, and took a deep breath.  "Computer…I want…orange juice."

"Specify quantity."

"Lots!  Lots and lots and _lots_!"  The last 'lots' was barely out of his mouth when Jones dropped to the floor, rolled under the nearest table, grabbed a leg and held on for dear life.

The Klingons were just reacting to this peculiar movement when the replicators whirred, and out splashed gallons upon gallons of orange juice.  A great jetting stream of it hit the Klingons right in the face.

"Shut this thing off!" one spluttered, outraged.

The computer didn't listen, and out poured more and more orange juice.  The Klingons battled the tide without success.  Within moments the juice level had risen to waist high, and Jones was forced to move up to the top of the table, which he clung to with no less vice-like of a grip.  One of the Klingons decided that all of this was clearly Jones' fault, and started to move towards him.  But it is no easy thing to move through orange juice.  The Klingon slipped, lost his footing, and went down.  The tide of the orange juice picked him up, and he was carried—kicking, splashing and cursing—across the room.  The other Klingon had the sense to grab onto the nearest table—not Jones' but the one next to it—and watched his companion in horrified fascination.  Jones decided he'd better do something about that.  He sat up, the orange juice level now lapping at the edge of the table and continuing to rise, and grabbed at a chair that floated by.  He managed to drag it up, and toss it in the general direction of the still standing Klingon.  It fell far short, but the Klingon ducked instinctively anyway, let go of the table, lost his balance, and was swept away.  It wasn't long before one of the thrashing Klingons—it was growing hard to tell them apart—was carried near the door.  The automatic sensors opened it, and the orange juice thundered out and down the corridor, carrying the two howling Klingons with it.

With an outlet, the level of juice started to drop appreciably.  When it was at knee height Jones came down from his table, and sloshed his way to the door, in search of the Klingons.  He finally found them fetched up at a dead end, knocked senseless and half-drowned.

Jones grinned.

*  *  *

Three Klingons walked down a corridor of the _Enterprise_.  Coming to a fork in the corridor, one of the Klingons noticed something up ahead.  He stopped his companions, and pointed.

"Look.  Do you think those are…"

"Kirk wouldn't have any of _those_, would he?" the second Klingon said uncertainly.

"I don't know but those sure look like…"  The third Klingon trailed off.

They looked at each other, and in voices filled with dread, said in unison, "_Tribbles_."

Five small, harmless looking balls of fur were lying in the middle of the corridor.  The Klingons eyed them warily, and with more than a little revulsion.

"Should we blast them?" one asked.

"No," one of the others said, "Where there's one tribble there's certain to be a thousand.  And where there's five…"

They looked at each other, horror-stricken.

"We need reinforcements," one decided.

The others quickly agreed.  "Yes, reinforcements.  Definitely."

They started down the other corridor in the fork.  They only made a few steps before they broke into a run.  Their mad dash carried them partway down the corridor, and came to an abrupt halt when they tripped over a wire conveniently strung at ankle-level.  They thudded to the floor, partially stunned.  Before they could prevent it, a hypospray injected each of them with something.  They made a few feeble attempts to chase after the Starfleeter who had such audacity, but they soon collapsed to the floor, and didn't move.

Chekov surveyed the wreckage, and grinned.  "That went well."

"I'll say," Uhura agreed, walking up, carrying the five balls of fur.  "Three big strapping Klingon warriors, fleeing from a few balls of fluff.  One of the funniest things I've ever seen."

"Good thing Dr. McCoy still had the fur samples from that study he was doing," Chekov commented, as he disconnected the wire strung across the corridor.

"Not to mention a hypospray with a neural paralyzer in it.  Why _did_ he have a neural paralyzer in his office anyway?  Not exactly a common item."

"You know, I asked him that once," Chekov said, remembering.  "And he said he always likes to have a neural paralyzer handy.  Takes one with him ewery time he beams down.  Doesn't matter where you're going, you newer can tell when one might be handy, ewen if it's shore leave or a Wulcan wedding ceremony."  Chekov shrugged.  "I don' understand it."

*  *  *

Kirk had only been in Sickbay for a few minutes when the doors opened.  He abruptly realized that there was absolutely nothing to prevent the Klingons from just happening to wander in.  He reached for his phaser, and then remembered he didn't have it.  He was just starting to reach for a disruptor as Sulu stepped in.  Kirk relaxed.

"Mr. Sulu.  The fact that you're not in Klingon custody seems to suggest you were successful."

Sulu grinned.  "Yes, sir.  You should have seen the hologram, sent the Klingons running."

Kirk repressed a shudder.  "Good, but I'll skip seeing the hologram.  Where's Spock?"

"Sticking the Klingons in a turbolift.  Here's your phaser, by the way," Sulu added, handing the phaser to Kirk and dropping a couple of disruptors on one of the tables.

"Thanks."  Kirk clipped his phaser back to his belt.  Any Klingons who felt the urge to visit Sickbay were welcome to come in now.  He was ready for them.

Practically on cue the doors opened.  Fortunately, though, it wasn't a Klingon.  It was Jones, dripping and triumphant.  The ensign's normally brown hair looked almost reddish, his uniform was saturated, there was a distinct sloshing sound from his boots as he walked, and he was puddling rather badly.  He was absolutely exhilarated though, and grinning broadly.

Jones saluted sharply.  "Mission accomplished, _sir_!" he announced proudly.

"Good work!" Kirk said, and clapped him on the back.  And got orange juice on his hand.  "Um…there's probably some towels around here somewhere…"

Jones glanced down at himself, as though noticing his condition for the first time.  "Oh.  That might be a good idea, sir."

"Just might be."

McCoy hid his towels well, but between the three of them, Kirk, Sulu, and Jones, they finally located a few.  Jones was just about dry, though still rather orange-stained, when the Sickbay doors opened and admitted Spock.

"Ah, Spock—" Kirk started.

"Klingon behind me."  Spock came in at a run.  He dived onto a biobed, slid across, and disappeared behind it.

The Klingon entered a moment later, disruptor drawn.  He stopped short in some amount of surprise at seeing, not one Starfleet officer, but three.  And not even the one he'd been chasing.  He reacted by raising the disruptor, but he wasn't fast enough.  Kirk had his phaser in hand by then, and fired.  The Klingon slumped to the floor, stunned.

Spock stood up from behind the biobed.  "I must compliment you on your reflexes, Captain."

"Thank you, Spock," Kirk said, clipping his phaser back on his belt.  "Pretty good jump yourself there."

"I felt it necessary to get out of the line of fire as rapidly as possible."

"Makes sense."  Kirk studied the Klingon, who was sprawled out on the floor.  "Somebody give me a hand with him.  We should stick him in a closet or something, he's cluttering up the entryway."

They had just finished hauling the Klingon into the nearest supply closet when Chekov and Uhura entered.

"Have any luck?" Kirk asked.

"Yes, sir," Chekov grinned.  "We got three of them!"

"Good!"

"Three," Spock said thoughtfully, "That makes a total of—"

He was interrupted by the intercom.

"Captain Kirk," Kagon snarled, "It seems clear that you are still alive."

"And kicking," Kirk added helpfully, though of course Kagon couldn't hear him.

"You are only making things worse!" Kagon thundered.

"Worse for who?" Kirk asked politely.

"Nine of my men have failed to report in.  So far I have been lenient because I want you all alive—" And because all the missing men had come to light in the last fifteen minutes, and he'd hardly had time to do much of anything "—but for the next Klingon who disappears, I'm killing a hostage!  For the one after that, two.  After that, three.  You can do the math.  Surrender while you still have some crewmembers left, Kirk.  Kagon out."

"Pleasant fellow," Kirk commented.  "Well, if we stop for now, we ought to be all right.  We'd have had to come up with a new plan anyway, we've lost the element of surprise."

"Captain," Spock said gravely, "you have not added up the number of Klingons accounted for, have you?"

Kirk frowned.  "No, why?"

Spock pointed to the closet containing the Klingon.  "That one," he said, "makes ten."

The room went quiet.

Kirk's eyes widened.  "Ten?"

Spock nodded.  "Ten."

Kirk checked his phaser, then strode towards the door.  "I'm going to the control room."  He glanced back for a moment.  "Jones, let's see what you can do.  You come with me."

"_Me_?" Jones squeaked.  "I mean…yes, sir!"  He pushed still damp hair out of his eyes, grabbed a disruptor off the nearest table and hurried after Kirk.

"Captain, what are you going to do?" Spock asked.

"I'll figure that out when I get there," Kirk said grimly, walking out the door.

*  *  *

Captain Kagon was mad.  It is generally considered imprudent to get in the way of an angry Klingon.  He had lost contact with nine of his men.  He blamed Kirk.  He had said he would kill a hostage, and almost immediately another man had failed to report in.  It was time to show that he wasn't bluffing.

He hated to kill hostages.  The killing didn't bother him, of course.  He was a Klingon.  But a dead hostage is a useless hostage, and he had a limited number here, for the moment at least.  Therefore times and means had to be carefully chosen.  Kagon hadn't made Captain by being stupid.  Everything was used to best advantage.  The time was right.

"It's time we made some use of these hostages," Kagon announced.

His lieutenant grinned.  He knew how hostages were used.   "Which one?"

Kagon looked along the line of prisoners, seated on the floor against the wall.  The hostile stares he got back didn't bother him.  What did bother him slightly, and had been bothering him slightly since he'd first captured them, was that every single stare said precisely the same thing.  'You poor, miserable sap.  You're obviously a fool if you think _our_ Captain is going to let you get away with this.'  Well, time would tell which of them was the fool.  And for the moment, he had other things to think about.

He wondered which one ranked highest.  He wondered how to tell Starfleet ranks.  All those blue shirts looked the same.  Except for the gold stripes along the sleeves.  Kagon looked closer.  Unless he was mistaken, the youngest ones had the least stripes.  Which indicated, more stripes, higher rank.  And the one with the most stripes…

The one who'd thought it was so clever to tell Kirk numbers and weapon-status.

Kagon smiled that wolfish smile, and pointed at McCoy.  "That one.  Kill him."

[evil grin] Heeheehee…my turn to have a little fun with Bones…


	32. Return of the Doctor

Disclaimer: I'm finally running out of interesting ways to say I don't own Star Trek.  Pity.  I don't though.  Also a pity.

Beedrill: 27: No, I haven't seen Invader Zim, sorry, McCoy knows more than he lets on, and yes, I am in a chemistry class, and no, I don't like it!  Congratulations, Inspector Beedrill.  26: The Raven is fun, we read that in my American Lit class.  24: School has a way of doing that.  Annoying isn't it?

Admiral Ael: Heehee, orange juice _is_ fun.

Silverfang: I figured I'd bring back Stella, sort of.  

Nevfennasiel: I don't know how I can break this to you…this chapter's serious too.  And it'll take one more to resolve the Klingons.  But after that, I promise to be funny again!  Absolutely promise!

What'shername: Actually, I'm waiting for chapter 26…

Emp: Mutilation…ugh, that sounds awful.  I'm not mutilating anyone, just pointing a disrupt—ahem, never mind, just read the story.

Blynneda:  oops!  A thousand apologies, I rely heavily on spell check.  Which has just learned that Blynneda is a word, Blynedda is not, so we'll see if this helps. Yeah, I know I have humor.  No matter how hard I try, my stuff ends up funny.  Well, not always ("That one.  Kill him."  Love that line.  ^_^) but an awful lot of the time.  And no bugging me about "Bonesy" look what you're doing to him!  Actually, bug if you like, it's interesting to be on this end.

On that note, to everyone who basically said "Aaaah!  Don't kill Bones!"  (hmm, no one said don't kill McCoy.  Interesting.)  Relax..  Calm yourselves.  In honor of DeForest Kelley's birthday Monday (the twentieth) we're resolving that little issue.  Read on.

Chapter Thirty-Two:

Return of the Doctor

_Approximately three seconds following the close of our last chapter:_

McCoy's eyes widened.  "Just like that?  You're going to just up and _kill_ me?"

"You catch on quickly," Kagon said, toying idly with the disruptor at his belt.

"Well, that's what I call _honor_," McCoy said sarcastically.  "Killing an unarmed doctor in cold blood!"

"Physician or otherwise, you are Starfleet.  The enemy of the Klingon Empire.  Your death is for the greater glory of the empire."

"If _that's_ how your empire picks up glory, that's not saying much."

Kagon grinned that same wolfish smile.  "If you want me to spare your life, you are not helping your case."

McCoy promptly shut up.  There wasn't much he could say or not say to help matters though.  Not much at all.

"Kill him out in the corridor," Kang ordered the lieutenant, a large fellow named Metark.  "That thin red human blood is disgusting."

"Well _we_ don't think too highly of _your_ blood either," McCoy muttered, as Metark hustled him out the door.

McCoy reviewed his options, and concluded he had none.  He was completely unarmed; didn't even have a hypospray up his sleeve.  He supposed he could take on Metark in hand to hand combat, except that, practically speaking, it would just be a bloodier and probably more painful way to get himself killed.  Besides, tackling a Klingon twice his height, three times his weight, and half his age was more Jim's style.  (The dimensions probably weren't quite like that but they sure felt that way.)  Not to mention the fact that Metark had a disruptor pointed at him.  Which he—uncomfortably for McCoy—gestured with.

"Have to do this right.  Back against the wall," Metark ordered.

McCoy edged back.  "Can we talk about this?"

"No."

McCoy bumped against the wall, and stopped.  If he was disturbed by the prospect of his immediate demise, he certainly wasn't going to mention it to the Klingon.  So for his—maybe—last words, he just said, "If you happen to see a Vulcan around here, will you at least tell him for me that he owes me dinner?"

No answer.  Just a raised disruptor.  Looked like this was it.  McCoy closed his eyes.  A bare second passed, and then he distinctly heard a weapon fire.  But it was just a sound, nothing else.  McCoy wondered if this was being dead, because it felt an awful lot like being alive. He opened one eye.

Metark was stretched out on the floor, apparently shot in the back.  McCoy gaped.  Not for long though.

"Bones!"

McCoy looked up.  And all of a sudden that which had been inexplicable became perfectly clear and only to be expected as the normal course of things.  Standing in an open turbolift directly across from McCoy—and therefore the fallen Metark—was Kirk, phaser drawn.  Mystery solved.  There was, however, a new item to wonder over.  Ensign Jones, standing behind Kirk, looking mildly petrified.  Not that he was standing there, or that he was petrified, but that he appeared to be orange.  McCoy decided to seek explanation at a later time.  It looked a long story.

"You all right?" Kirk asked, clipping his phaser back to his belt.

"More or less."

Kirk smiled.  "Good.  Now let's pull the Klingon into the turbolift and get out of here."

They did, and successfully got the turbolift under way without trouble from Kagon or his men.

"Well.  That wasn't so hard after all," Kirk commented.

"Nothing like split-second timing though," McCoy pointed out.

"Did wind up that way, didn't it?" Jones said uncomfortably.

McCoy suspected he shouldn't ask.  He suspected he would only regret it.  He decided to do it anyway.  "So…was that planned to the second, or was it pretty much blind luck?"

Kirk thought about it for perhaps two seconds.  "Blind luck.  Completely blind luck."

McCoy nodded, and they lapsed into silence as the 'lift continued its journey.  They were just stepping out when McCoy spoke again.

"You know, Jim…"

"Hmm?"

"You _really_ could have lied to me!"

Kirk shrugged.  "Next time," he promised.

McCoy paled.  "Next time?  _Next_ time?"

He proceeded with a clear, complete, and not very concise explanation of why there just better not _be_ a next time, while Jones watched and Kirk tried to jam a turbolift and contain amusement simultaneously.  He was reasonably successful at both, and they walked down the corridor to Sickbay.

Inside Sickbay, the group was quite enthusiastic, congratulating Kirk and Jones and expressing general relief that McCoy was back among the living, so to speak.  The enthusiasm definitely encompassed one individual with pointed ears and black hair.  Also four feet.  It didn't quite reach the two-legged one, who wasn't exactly gushing.  But of course, he was a Vulcan.

"Captain.  Doctor.  It seems you were successful."

"Gee, Spock, don't sound too happy," McCoy said sarcastically.

"I am a Vulcan, Doctor.  Therefore—"

"Yes, I know.  Incapable of emotion, etc., etc.  And besides which—" McCoy grinned "—if I had died you'd have been off the hook."

One upswept eyebrow rose.  "I was not conscious of 'being on a hook.'"

McCoy didn't bother trying to explain that one.  It wasn't as if he had a chance at success.  He forged ahead instead.  "The bet, Spock. You owe me dinner."

"Ah.  Yes.  It seems that I do."

McCoy blinked.  "You're not going to argue?  You're not going to explain to me, logically of course, why the bet is void, null, invalid?"

"The terms were simple.  If there were Klingons, I would owe you dinner.  There were Klingons.  I owe you dinner."

McCoy sighed, despairingly.  "How does he always do this to me?"

"Do what?" Kirk asked.  "He's agreeing with you.  For once."

"I know!  And where's the fun in telling someone 'I told you so' when they _agree_ that you told them so!"

Kirk decided not to try to understand that one.  "Tell him so later.  Right now, we've got to do something about Kagon before he figures out another Klingon and a hostage have gone missing."

They estimated they couldn't chance waiting more than three minutes, at the outside.  And for the third time Kirk didn't have a plan.  That was easily settled though, as there simply weren't a great many options.

A straightforward, to-the-point, direct attack on the auxiliary control room was the only course of action at hand.  Granted, that was exactly what they'd decided not to do at the beginning, but things had changed.  For one, eleven Klingons were down.  For two, they had an extra person and a lot more weapons.  And for three, they now knew precisely what had been happening in the control room as of five minutes ago.

"So how many Klingons are we looking at here?" Kirk asked.

"Six…no, five," McCoy corrected himself.  "I forgot, you already knocked out Metark."

"Metark?"

"Big guy with the disruptor pointed at me?"

"Oh.  That one.  Guess I never heard his name."

"He wasn't exactly in a position to introduce himself," McCoy agreed.

"Anyway, we can handle five Klingons."

There were nods around the group.  Even Jones, still in the triumph of attacking two Klingons and surviving a successful rescue attempt, looked fairly confident.

"All right.  Let's go before Kagon loses his temper."

"Wouldn't be surprised if that doesn't take too long either," McCoy commented as they headed out the door.

"That reminds me.  Got any ideas what the guy's motivations are?" Kirk asked.  "I still can't figure out why he wanted to go to war…"  He interrupted himself to tell Spock, "Try the other turbolift, there's a Klingon in that one."

It didn't take long to find an empty turbolift, and they continued.

"So, Kagon's motivations?"

"Well…are you sure you never met him before?" McCoy asked.

"Positive," Kirk confirmed.

McCoy shrugged.  "I don't understand it then.  He kept talking about avenging his family's honor.  Not just _bringing_ honor, but _avenging_.  Sounded like they used to have honor and you somehow wrecked it and now he's determined to get it back.  But if you've never even met him…"

"Never even heard of him.  Guess I'll have to ask _him_ later."

"You do that, Jim."

*  *  *

Kagon was not happy.  No, not happy at all.  He sat in front of a control panel, and glared.  He had been sitting here when it all started, the ruination of his painstakingly constructed plans.  First, ten Klingons disappearing.  Then, to add insult to the injury—and Klingons always make more of insults than injuries—the hostage he had sent to be killed had vanished and taken Kagon's lieutenant with him.

Kagon had had enough.   He was beginning to regret not destroying the _Enterprise_ right from the beginning.  He was beginning to forget all the complex, cunning plots he generally thought about.  He was beginning to want nothing more than to kill something, preferably Kirk, and quickly.

Had he been able to look at himself from an outside perspective, he would have been very worried.  However, he couldn't so he wasn't.

Kagon turned his glare on the Starfleet officers sitting along the opposite wall.  He was pleased that at least a couple looked mildly frightened and didn't meet his stare.  He was not pleased that the others met his gaze squarely, and still had that '_our_ captain is going to run _you_ into the ground' expression.

Kagon snapped.  "Kill them," he said abruptly.  "All of them.  Now."

The Klingons looked at each other.  Wholesale slaughtering to no obvious end wasn't quite the norm for Kagon.  But, who were they to argue?

That could have been a tragedy right there.  Fortunately though, split-second timing and blind luck came in on Kirk's side again.  The doors opened and the bridge crew entered, disruptors drawn and firing.

The fight was fast, furious, and one-sided.  The Starfleet crew proved pretty good shots with disruptors.  With the exception of Jones, who realized a little belatedly that he didn't know how to fire a disruptor.  Throwing caution and the useless disruptor to the winds, he jumped the nearest Klingon.  This was a very impressive gesture, but even so it might have been the end of Jones if the hostages hadn't taken the initiative to join the fight.  It's doubtful any of them were considering their Hippocratic Oaths just then.

When the dust—to speak metaphorically, of course—settled, four Klingons were spread unconscious on the floor.

"Everyone all right?" Kirk asked.

Everyone was.

Kirk turned to regard the Klingons.  And that's when he realized they had a problem.  "Wait…we're missing a Klingon."

"You're not just missing _a_ Klingon, Jim.  You're missing _the_ Klingon," McCoy said.

Sure enough, Kagon had somehow managed to slip out.  He was still thinking clearly enough to know that he couldn't win this particular battle.  He wasn't fond of retreats, and he was sorely tempted to jump Kirk on the spot, but he opted for stealing past the Starfleeters and out the door in the confusion.

"This isn't so bad, really," Kirk said, to himself or the others.  "Sure, the Klingon captain's still on the loose, but we've got the upper hand now, right?"

The group more or less agreed.

McCoy wandered over to where his staff was standing.  Spock helped Jones off of the Klingon he'd been attacking.  Jones had lost his balance when the Klingon had lost his consciousness, and had yet to get up again.

Kirk glanced around the room, thinking.  "Anyone happen to know which of these panels is communications?"

"That one, Captain," Uhura said, pointing.

"Thanks."  Kirk sat down in front of the board, and flicked the switch for the intercom.  Sat silent for just a moment, then began speaking.  "Captain Kagon?  I know you're out there somewhere."  Kirk smiled.  It wasn't an altogether pleasant smile.  "And I _do_ hope you can hear me.  Do you know who this is, Kagon?  This is Captain Kirk.  My people have retaken our control room.  And it is only a matter of time—and a very _short_ time—before we round up the last of your men.  We already have fifteen of them.  You do the math.  In addition, we're unsealing every section of the ship, meaning _my_ crew is free to roam the ship again.  Face it, Kagon.  It's _over_."  Kirk was enjoying himself hugely.  "I advise you to surrender, and quickly.  It will happen eventually, and the sooner you bow to the inevitable the simpler for everyone involved.  Kirk out."  He flicked off the comm, and only then became aware that McCoy was looking at him.  He turned.  "Yes?"

McCoy shrugged.  "You've got an evil streak in you, Jim."

Kirk grinned.  "I know."

*  *  *

Yes indeed, things were looking up.  With the control room back, Kagon was crippled and all the cards were back with Kirk.  It didn't take much to get in touch with security and send them out to round up the remaining Klingons.  McCoy took the former hostages back to Sickbay, to wait for any injured crewmembers to report in.  Kirk left Uhura in the control room to see about who else she could contact, left Sulu and Chekov to keep an eye out for any Klingon attempts to retake the controls, and took Spock to personally look for Kagon.  It was somewhat pointless, as the security guards were sure to come across Kagon eventually, but Kirk had a bit of the Old West in his blood, and was hoping for a one-on-one showdown.  Spock considered it illogical, but was willing to go along.

"Captain, how exactly do you expect to find Kagon?" Spock asked, as they walked down one of the corridors.

"Strategy, Spock.  The trick is to figure out, considering the circumstances, where Kagon would go."

"And…where would Kagon go?"

Kirk shrugged.  "No idea.  I can, however, try to figure out where _I'd_ go under identical conditions.  Kagon seems likely to do about the same."

"And where would you go?"

"_That's_ what I have to figure out."

Spock's eyebrow was on the move.  "Then this is, essentially, a 'wild goose chase.'"

Kirk briefly tried to imagine McCoy's expression had he heard the preceding line.  He gave it up as a hopeless endeavor.  "Kind of.  But if I could just take a minute to think, I might…"

Spock took this as an indication that he should be quiet.  So he was.  Kirk didn't notice particularly, deep immersed as he was in strategizing the circumstances from Kagon's end.

They were just coming up on a turn in the corridor when Kirk stopped.  "The bridge."

"The bridge?"

"Of course!  The _bridge_!  Where else?  He's lost the control room, so what's the next best thing?  The bridge!  And since it wasn't strategically important before, it's a good bet we didn't leave anyone there.  Which we didn't.  Kagon's got to be on the bridge," Kirk said.  Now that he'd hit on the idea he was sure of it.

Spock considered.  "It does seem reasonable."

"And if he's on the bridge…we're in trouble, Spock, we're in big trouble.  He can hit self-destruct, he can fiddle with the environment, who knows what else he'd think of?  At the very least he can seal himself in.  We've got to get down there."

"When one properly considers it, the situation does appear grave."

Kirk nodded, and started down the corridor.  They came around the bend, and came to an abrupt halt.  Three Klingons were gathered partway down the corridor.  Kirk and Spock ducked back around, but shouts down the hall left no doubt that they'd been seen.

"We're in big trouble," Kirk said again, as he fired his phaser back around the corner.

Spock considered, and came to a lightning fast decision.  "Captain, I suggest you go to the bridge while I deal with the Klingons."

"Spock, I can't do that!" Kirk insisted.  He meant it too.  But…if his hunch was correct—and the more he thought about it the more he was sure it was—Kagon had to be dealt with too, and as quickly as possible.

"I believe I can handle a few Klingons.  We may not be able to handle whatever trouble Kagon can cause."

"Well…" Kirk wavered.  He was fully aware of time passing as he continued standing there, firing at the Klingons who had taken partial shelter in a doorway.  One was down already.  Spock _could_ handle the others.  "Be careful."

"Caution is, of course, quite logical in certain instances."

For Spock, that was almost a joke.  And strangely, that's what pushed Kirk over.  He headed down the corridor at a fast pace in the opposite direction, and didn't look back.  The first turbolift he came to, he jabbed the button.  Nothing happened.  Except for some pounding from the other side.  Kirk swore, and went on to the next one.  That one, fortunately, was still up and running, and it wasn't long before Kirk stepped out on the bridge.

His first impression was that someone—presumably Scotty—had gotten the lights back on.  Which made sense when you considered virtually the entire rest of the ship seemed to have light.  His second impression was that his hunch had been correct.  And he didn't have time for a third impression, as the object of that hunch jumped him.

Kagon had been standing by Uhura's console when the turbolift doors opened.  Kirk never had the time to draw his phaser.  Kagon crashed against him and they rolled down the steps from the upper ramp to the lower section of the bridge.  Kirk wound up on top, but didn't stay there.  Klingons are quite strong.  Kagon got his legs in position, got a kick in, and Kirk went flying.  He rolled instinctively and came up on his knees, on the far side of the command chair.  Kagon was on his feet by then, across the bridge from Kirk.  Kirk reached for his phaser, and came up empty.  Somewhere in the course of their tumble, it had slipped off.  It only took a moment to spot it.  On the floor by Kagon's feet.

Kagon wasn't completely oblivious.  With a twisted smile, he kicked the phaser behind him, where it vanished under a console.  Which left Kagon still armed with a disruptor at his belt, and Kirk empty-handed.

But all was not lost, assuming the Klingons didn't finish off Spock.  It was definitely time to stall.

"You might as well give it up, Kagon," Kirk told him.  "Even if you kill me, you've still lost.  My ship is back in my crew's hands.  And with all of them loose, you don't stand a chance." 

Kagon appeared calm.  Only a faintly maniacal gleam in his eye showed that the stress of the last few hours and the unraveling of his careful plan was affecting him.  "You're always so confident, Kirk.  It's damned annoying."

"Maybe I have _reason_ to be confident."

Kagon shook his head.  "I don't think so.  Fine, so your paltry efforts have won you a battle within the corridors of your own ship.  But you forget.  There are still seven birds-of-prey outside that answer to _me_.  I can still have avenge the honor of my House."

"This is about _vengeance_?" Kirk asked, genuinely puzzled.  This confirmed what McCoy had said, but still wasn't very illuminating.  "How can this be revenge when I've never even _heard_ of you?"

"But you've heard of my cousin," Kagan hissed.  "Commander Koloth."

Kirk nodded.  He remembered Koloth.  He still didn't quite follow what all of this was about though.

"Two years ago, you were delivering grain to Sherman's Planet.  You foiled a mission being carried out by my cousin.  It was a significant defeat for the Klingon Empire.  But worse…you _humiliated_ us.  You…_infested_ a Klingon ship with…with foul, vile, loathsome _tribbles_!"

Oh.  It all went back to the tribbles, Kirk realized.  Further trouble with tribbles.

"Do you know how many tribble jokes members of our House have heard since that Black day?" Kagon raged, mounting the steps back to the upper ramp.  "We have not been able to hold our heads high since then!  Our honor, our pride, has been in tatters!  But no longer!  I, Kagon, will avenge it, though I die in the doing!"  Kagon took the last step over to Uhura's console, and slapped a control.  "Kaldane!  Destroy the Enterprise!  Now!"

Heeheehee…be sure to review on your way out.


	33. Resolutions

Disclaimer: I may skip this disclaimer, that's how bored with them I'm getting.  

Therefore, I _may_ or _may not_ own anything mentioned here, which _may_ or _may not_ be the licensed property of Paramount.

Emp: : ) tribbles are always fun.  And yeah, I s'pose it was evil… : )

Silverfang: Oh, I dunno, Q may be along eventually but I think Kirk will manage to handle this himself…

Msvegetablack: Well, I'm flattered but don't give it _too_ complete of attention…eating and sleeping require a little thought now and then, lol.

Grace: Thanks, I rather thought so myself.  Ahem, no ego, yep, nooo ego…

Nevfennasiel: I swear, the next chapter will be funny.  Next chapter.

Blynneda: I'll try not to be _too_ insulted.  Kidding, only kidding…remember that error you thought you found?  Let me know and I'll do my level best to come up with clever explanation for why it's not actually an error.  And no one has ever told me before that I remind of the number of eight.  I await an explanation.

Beedrill: Oh goodness.  That is the stupidest, most pointless website I've ever seen…and yet I enjoyed it hugely.  Go figure.  I mean, it's insanity.  At least as insane as…geese on the _Enterprise_, perhaps.

Now, finally, onto the story.  Knew it had to be in here somewhere…

Chapter Thirty-Three:

Resolutions

Seconds ticked past.  And…nothing happened.  Absolutely nothing.  No firing.  No explosions.  Not even a request from the _Kaldane_ for confirmation.  Kagon's triumphant expression turned to uncertainty, and finally to confusion.

Triumph instead came to Kirk.  He smiled.  Then grinned.  And finally laughed out loud.  Kagon stared at him, confused and stricken.  Everything in him, his emotions, his thoughts, had all been keyed up to a fever pitch.  This was to be the climax of years of plotting and anticipation.  He had called down fire and brimstone and a blazing violent death and welcomed it, because it would take out his enemies as well.  He was ready, willing, and desirous.  And then…nothing.  The anticlimax of it all was absolutely staggering him.

Not so for Kirk.  He was exhibiting more of that annoying confidence and self-assurance.  "You planned this all very carefully, didn't you?  Plotted it all out, step by step?" Kirk said, walking calmly up to the upper ramp on the opposite side of the bridge from Kagon, running his hand lightly along the railing.  "I bet you lied awake nights, working out all the details.  Your dedication is impressive, in a way."

Kagon finally seemed to realize that Kirk was moving to the upper ramp, therefore closer to him.  "Stop.  Stop right there!  Don't come any closer!"  He drew his disruptor, and pointed it towards Kirk.  His hand was shaking.

Kirk obligingly stopped walking.  He was just about in front of Spock's station by now.  He kept his eyes on Kagon, except for a glance or two around him.  He continued on his former tangent.  "Planned every part, didn't you?"  Kirk shook his head.  "Well you know, you forgot something.  Something very, very minor.  But important."  Kirk grinned.  "When you were first down at the auxiliary control room?  You turned off that console.  It's still off."

Realization hit Kagon.  But…all was not lost.  Victory was still within his grasp!  He practically threw away the disruptor, sending it skittering across the dead board of Uhura's console, and reached for his handheld communicator, intent on calling his ship and destroying the hated Starfleet after all.

In one fluid movement Kirk bent down, scooped up the phaser Jones had dropped—was it only a couple hours ago?—and fired.  Kagon's fingers closed on his communicator and then the beam struck and he dropped to the floor.

Kirk tossed the phaser up into the air and caught it one-handed.  "I really must commend Ensign Jones on his clumsiness."

[A/N: If you don't recall the phaser, I referred to that somewhere in Chapter 30.  Nice little one-line detail.]

Approximately two minutes later, Kirk was in the process of deciding whether it would be preferable to drag Kagon into the turbolift, haul him down to the brig, and then go to the auxiliary control room, or whether he should leave Kagon there, go down to the auxiliary control room, and send somebody else to deal with Kagon.  He didn't do either though, as right about then the turbolift doors opened.  He instinctively grabbed his phaser (or rather, Jones' phaser) but it wasn't necessary.  The doors opened to reveal Spock, with three security guards behind him.

Kirk relaxed, and grinned.  "Mr. Spock.  I'm glad to see the Klingons didn't kill you."

"I would be somewhat disturbed if you felt otherwise, Captain," Spock said mildly, stepping onto the bridge.

The security guards swarmed out and surrounded the unconscious Kagon, phasers drawn.  What exactly they expected him to do is uncertain, but whatever happened, they would take care of it.

After that, things moved quickly, and always in an upward direction.  The security guards took Kagon down to the brig.  Spock and Kirk went back to the auxiliary control room.  Even a brief glance at the present circumstances made it very clear that things were improved, vastly.  Kagon was the single greatest threat, and he had been neutralized.  The security section was continuing to round up Klingons, and reported only six or so still loose.  Within the _Enterprise_, the battle was over.

Circumstances weren't quite as bright outside.  As Kagon had mentioned, there were still seven Klingon birds-of-prey hanging around.  But, with normal bridge crew and normal bridge power restored, Kirk felt quite sure that could be dealt with easily enough.

Kirk decided it was high time he called someone he hadn't been in contact with for some time.  He tapped the intercom on the arm of his chair.  "Kirk to Engineering.  Mr. Scott?"

The engineer's voice came over the line.  "Well!  It's about time, Captain!  Beggin' your pardon, sir, but what the deuce are ye doin' up there?  First we're plungin' headlong into battle for no reason I kin see, and then Engineerin' is being sealed off, and—"

"It wasn't me, Scotty, it was the Klingons," Kirk protested cheerfully.

"Och, well, _that_ explains ever'thing."

"Yes, well, that's all somewhat beside the point.  The point _is_—" Kirk grinned "—did you get anything _useful_ done while you were locked into the engine room?"

"_Useful_?" Scotty spluttered.  "Only if ye consider it _useful_ to get the shields back up to 90%, an' the phasers back to normal, and the photon torpedoes in excellent—"

"Thank you, Mr. Scott," Kirk interrupted smoothly, "I knew I could depend on you."

This threw Scotty somewhat.  "I…uh…thank ye, Captain."

"Kirk out."  Kirk was having a marvelous time.  "Mr. Spock, do you think the Klingons are aware of Mr. Scott's wizardry?"

"If you are referring to the issue of whether they know that extensive repairs have been made, I would think not.  Shields are down, weapons are not charged.  To tell the difference between inoperative machinery and inactive machinery would necessitate an extensive scan, and it does not seem in keeping with Klingon character to expend ship's energy scanning an already defeated ship."

"Thank you, Mr. Spock, precisely what I was thinking."  Not in those exact words, necessarily, but…certainly the general idea.  "Forward viewscreen, please."

The viewscreen flickered to life, displaying the usual blackness with pinpricks of white stars.  Against those stars crouched the Klingon ships.

"Sensors."

"They are not prepared for battle, Captain," Chekov reported, grinning.  "Shields are lowered, and weapons are not charged."

"Excellent," Kirk murmured.  "Mr. Sulu, shields up, engines powered.  Mr. Chekov, phasers online, target weapons systems, fire at will."

"Yes, sir!" the twin choruses came back.

The Klingons never knew what hit them.

Or rather, didn't know until it was much too late to do anything about it, and the only option left was to self-destruct or accept terms of settlement.  Kagon probably would have self-destructed.  His crew wasn't quite as fervent.

The Klingons surrendered, which left Kirk in a vaguely similar position to the one Kagon had been in three chapters ago.  Except that, quite frankly, if the Klingons wanted to commit mass suicide, well, that was a shame but he wasn't risking his men over it.  Even if risks _were_ their business.  Also, he didn't care particularly about personally dragging the Klingons back to the Federation.  Consequently, he sent off a message for reinforcements, ordered shields to remain up and extensive sensor sweeps to be made every hour (he was not going to be caught by his own trick) and he was just beginning to think everything was finally settling down when Uhura interrupted to mention he had a call.

"Captain, Dr. McCoy requests a word with you," Uhura said.

"Thank you, Lieutenant."  Kirk flipped a switch on his chair, wondering what McCoy wanted now.  "Something I can do for you, Bones?"

"Maybe, Jim.  Got a question for you."

Well, that wasn't very illuminating.  "And that would be…?"

"I was just wondering if there was any particular reason why it didn't occur to you that it _possibly_ might be a good idea to mention to me, just in passing you know, that you left a _Klingon_ in my supply closet?"

Kirk suspected there was a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, and endeavored to suppress it, while endeavoring to think up a good answer.  'I forgot' wasn't very good.  "I…had a lot on my mind?  Things were happening fast, I was under a lot of stress…"

"I'll buy that," McCoy agreed.  "Still, it doesn't seem quite polite to leave Klingons lying around in other people's closets without telling them."

"How about if I promise to never do it again?" Kirk suggested.

Long pause.

"_That_ now, _that_ falls under the category of there _not being_ a next time, so…"

"Oh yes, my mistake.  So, um…_did_ the Klingon cause a lot of trouble?"

"Oh not particularly I suppose," McCoy admitted.  "He was still stunned.  Of course, he still managed to scare one of my nurses to pieces, and her shrieks sent Surak flying, but hey, it's a madhouse around here half the time anyway."

"It has been lately," Kirk agreed, with feeling.  "Come to think of it, why are you calling _me_, don't you have patients or something?"

"Not that many, actually.  A lot of people got tossed around a little, but not much in the way of serious injuries.  A few people had things fall on them…and one guy's friends brought him in after a _Klingon_ fell on him."

"A Klingon…fell on him."  Kirk grinned suddenly.  "Don't tell me.  I can guess who.  Come to think of it, I should give him his phaser back."

"Why do you _have_ his phaser?"

"Slightly long story.  Anyway, I think I'll drop by."

"Sure.  And maybe you can convince Watley that we very rarely have Klingons falling out of closets."

*  *  *

Denise Smith, twenty-three, blue-eyed with brown hair, nurse on the _Enterprise_, ran her finger down the list of names on her padd.  She stopped on a name midway down, and frowned.

Richard Samuel Jones, Ensign.

She groaned.  "Not _again_!"  She tucked the padd under her arm and walked into the outer room.  It took a moment of looking in the crowded room, but she spotted him.  "Sam!  What are you doing in here _again_?"

Jones ducked his head.  "Oh, hi, Denise," he said from his perch on the end of a biobed.

She crossed her arms and tapped her foot.  "Well?"

Jones shrugged.  "A Klingon fell on me.  I'm okay, really."

"Honestly, Sam!  You've got to be more careful," she scolded him.  "One of these days you're going to get yourself killed, and what do you intend to do _then_?"

Across the room, Kirk and McCoy chanced to overhear.  Kirk elbowed McCoy and nodded towards Denise and Jones.  "Sound vaguely familiar?"

"Vaguely.  But," McCoy said straight-faced, "she's prettier than I am…"  he trailed off, a thought occurring to him as it simultaneously occurred to Kirk.

They looked at each other.

"Say…you think maybe there's a reason Jones is in here so often?" Kirk ventured.

"Sure.  Lack of coordination."

"No!  I meant—"

"I know what you meant."  McCoy shrugged.  "I don't know, but we'll have to keep an eye on this.  She's a nice girl, not dating anyone, and…" He grinned almost conspiratorially "…she's tripped over Surak at least half-a-dozen times."

*  *  *

By the next morning, things were practically back to routine within the Enterprise.  Of course, there was still an excess of Klingons in the brig, as well as an excess of Klingons outside, but that was under control and not a concern.  Federation ships to take over the Klingons would arrive within 12 hours, and Kirk decided it would be a good idea to call a department heads' meeting.  He'd been in contact with everyone and there didn't seem to be any problems, but calling everyone together and confirming that seemed a suitable resolution to recent events.

Department heads' meetings are actually quite dull.  Generally totally routine.  'Everything okay in your department?'  'Yes.'  'How about yours?'  'Pretty much.'  'Any objections to this requisition for more coffee cups?'  'Can't say that there are.'  And so on, and so on.  Things only get interesting when the floor (or table, whichever) is thrown open to questions, and even then only when an interesting question is asked.  Consequently, we're going to jump right on ahead past the routine business up to a concern of Scotty's.

"One question, Captain.  I still dinna see _why_ we were fightin' the Klingons in the _first_ place," Scotty complained.

Kirk leaned back in his chair.  He'd been waiting for this one.  Perhaps it wasn't the nicest thing in the galaxy to tease one's chief engineer…_but_…  "Well, Mr. Scott," Kirk grinned, "that's an interesting question, very interesting.  And you may not believe this, but that was _your_ fault."

Scotty blinked, taken aback.  "_My_ fault, Captain?  I dinna ken how—"

"Mr. Scott," Kirk said blithely, "do you remember…the tribbles?"

Scotty frowned.  "Well…aye, Captain, but I dinna see how that relates to—"

"Do you remember," Kirk continued, "what you _did_ with the tribbles?"

"_Aye_, Captain, but I _still_—"

"Well, you see, that solution worked pretty well with me, solved _our_ problems.  But the Klingons, now, the _Klingons_ weren't too happy.  Did you know you trampled on the honor of some fine, fine Houses?  And that's what came to back to haunt us.  Disgruntled Klingons, who were somewhat less than pleased about the tribbles.  So much for 'no tribble a'tall,' eh?"

Scotty sighed, but had to grin in spite of himself.  "Aye, Captain."  Came back to haunt them.  Rather the way that line kept doing.  Funny how it had seemed so clever at the time and kind of silly two minutes later and ever after.

"Any other considerations?" Kirk asked after the group had settled back into something that passed for appropriate solemnity.  "Any concerns, comments?  Anything?"  There weren't any.  "Well then.  Meeting adjourned."

The various department heads stood up to go, gathered their pads and things, and exited in an orderly fashion.  Except for maybe one or two nudges and mutters of "So much for no tribble a'tall."

"Looks like all's well that ends well," Kirk commented to McCoy on the way out the door.

McCoy looked at him in mild surprise.  "Oh this isn't _ending_ yet, Jim."

Kirk blinked.  "What's left?"

McCoy grinned, eyes fairly dancing.  "Spock still owes me dinner."

[beams] Hope you enjoyed, leave a review at the door.


	34. The Troubles Aren't Over Yet!

Desconocer: Star Trek no es mio.  Star Trek es de Paramount.  ¡Que triste!  _Pero_, Ensign Jones es mio, y Lt. Simmons es de "Que-es-su-nombre."

Solidchristian_88: Hmm…if you're wondering where my mind was on these chapters, perhaps you ought not to read my other stories/chapters.  Although on the other hand, if you loved it…anyway, glad you enjoyed.

Blynneda: I'd never noticed before, but no, I can't say tribble without smiling… : )  And it's not so unnatural to be unable to picture Ensign Jones.  He is, first and foremost, a red-shirt after all.  And as to that error, um…he had a lot on his mind?  He was under a lot of stress…things were happening fast…

Emp: Glad you enjoyed, I figured I'd do something nice for Jones…let him forget briefly that he's a red-shirt.  Briefly.  Heeheehee…

Ms_Vegeta_Black: Really?  And here I thought it was suspenseful…no, I guess I was aiming for humor, really.  Glad you liked!

Silverfang: Sigh…if only it _was_ that easy to win the Nobel…or the Pulitzer, I'd settle for either.

It occurs to me that I have nothing in particular to say in the author's note.  Except to recommend any and all books by Edgar Rice Burroughs, as I just finished reading four in a row…but that has nothing to do with anything.  Therefore, onto the chapter!

Chapter Thirty-Four:

The Troubles Aren't Over Yet!

_Two days after the close of our last chapter, several Starfleet ships arrived, with the intent of taking custody of the Klingons, pending their delivery to a Federation penal colony.  Kirk is very pleased to see the end of them.  So pleased that he has personally escorted Kagon to a cell on the other ship:_

"I think my work here is done," Kirk said to a security guard from the other ship.

The guard, who was virtually indistinguishable from any of the _Enterprise_'s numerous guards, nodded.  "We'll keep a close eye on 'em, Captain."

"Good."  Kirk reached for his communicator, to call the ship for a beam-up.  Kagon's voice came him pause.

"Kirk!  A word with you," Kagon called from his cell.

Kirk considered, and shrugged.  He walked over.  "What do you want, Kagon?"

"I wanted to check before they hauled me off to some Federation prison…you think this is over, don't you?"

Kirk shrugged again.  "My first officer owes my doctor dinner.  Aside from that, yes."

Kagon laughed mockingly.  "Has it not occurred to you that I might have an alternate plan?"

Kirk threw him a questioning look.        

Kagon's lips curved into a sardonic grin.  "Has it not occurred to you that I might want to inflict on your _precious_ ship the same damage that you inflicted on my cousin's?" 

*  *  *

And so, when Kirk beamed back, he wasn't in nearly as good a mood as he'd been in when he beamed over.

Not nearly.

"Kagon dealt with, Captain?" Scotty asked as Kirk stepped off the transporter pad.

"Yes," Kirk said shortly and didn't elaborate.  "And there's a department heads' meeting in ten minutes."  He paused, considering.  "No, five minutes."  He walked out of the room, leaving a somewhat mystified Scotty behind him.

*  *  *

Five minutes later:

Somehow or other, all the department heads managed to get to the briefing room within five minutes.  They weren't all happy about it though.

"What's the big idea, Jim?" McCoy demanded.  "Five minute notice to a meeting?  I was in the middle of an experiment, mixing several combinations of acids, and I had to drop everything—"

"You were dealing with acids and you _dropped_—"

"Not _literally_, Spock!" McCoy snapped, exasperated.

"Perhaps you should be more clear then, Doctor," Spock said mildly.

"Oh _really_?  Well I'll tell you—"

"Would you mind terribly if I _interrupted_, gentlemen?!" Kirk broke in loudly.  "I _did_ call this meeting for a reason, and it wasn't to listen to Bones rant!"

"That is to be expected," Spock commented.  "We certainly hear enough of the Doctor without calling meetings for the specific purpose of—"

"Well we hear plenty of you too, you know."

"But I am not as loud."

"But you _are_ just as bad…"

Kirk was drumming his fingers on the edge of the table.  He should have expected it would be hard to get them to take this seriously.  There's an unwritten rule in space, that emergencies have a certain reasonable length of time between them.  New emergencies are not supposed to follow five minutes after you deal with the last one.  But here they were, with another emergency approaching fast.  Not as fast as Kirk's patience was fraying though.  "If you don't both sit down and be quiet, I'm going to have to remove you from the room!"

McCoy and Spock paused in their discussion, and looked at each other.

"You think he means it?" McCoy asked.

"Possibly," Spock concluded, and sat down.

McCoy was less certain.  "I don't know, he's never thrown us out before…"

"_Doctor_!"

"All right, all right."  McCoy slid into a seat.  "Sheesh, what's your problem, Jim?"

Kirk used that as an opening to regain some semblance of control.  "It's not _my_ problem.  It's a problem we're _all_ going to have to deal with."  He paused for effect, let the silence lengthen just a bit, then went on.  "We have a problem.  This ship's security has been compromised."

"Don't tell me there's another Klingon loose," McCoy interjected.  "Please don't."

"Worse," Kirk snapped.

"Such a thing exists?  Incredible.  I never would have guessed that—"

"_Bones_!"

"Fine, fine.  I'll be quiet."

"_As_ I was saying, _something_ is loose on this ship.  And we need to find it and deal with it as quickly as possible."

"What _are_ we dealing with, Captain?" Spock asked.

Kirk looked at him for a moment, and finally concluded the question was meant seriously.  "We are dealing with what might very possibly be the most dangerous creature we have ever encountered."  His voice dropped to a near whisper.  "Somewhere on this ship, there is…a _tribble_."

Things proceeded fairly rationally after that.  Having convinced them that there really was a problem, Kirk was able to keep a pretty firm rein on things for the rest of the meeting.  

"Kagon told me that he had the tribble as a back-up plan," Kirk explained.  "They had it in a stasis field so it wouldn't reproduce on the Klingon ship.  And once they got over here, they left it…somewhere.  If they took over the ship they could go back and get it.  If they didn't…well, the tribble's in here somewhere and we've got to find it."

"If we organize oursel'es, we're sure to come across it eventu'lly," Scotty said, trying to sound reassuring.

"Before or after it starts multiplying?" Kirk countered.  "Because once it starts having little tribbles…"

"Ah, well…"  Scotty brightened.  "I know, I can pull the same trick as las' time.  Set the transporters for the tribble's genetic make-up, and…"

Kirk was shaking his head.  "You can try it, but Kagon claims he thought of that.  Would you believe it's a genetically-engineered tribble?"

"Well, that would confuse the transporters a bit," Scotty admitted.

"Which means we've got to crawl through this ship personally, and _find that tribble_."

*  *  *

Which is essentially what they set out to do.  Problem is, it's a big ship.  And the tribble could be virtually anywhere.  No telling where the Klingons might have thought of leaving it.  So they organized into groups and got into the business of scouring the different rooms of the ship for a small ball of fur.

Kirk had a bad feeling about things though.  It just didn't seem quite reasonable that Kagon would have gone to the trouble of getting a genetically altered tribble, and then just leave it in a corner.  No, he want a truly out of the way place to stick it, somewhere people rarely were, somewhere hidden from sight, somewhere…like the Jeffries Tubes.

Kirk almost went down to engineering to bring the matter up with Scotty, but then remembered that the engineer was probably in the middle of poking around the warp engines.  Not a good time to disturb him.  Well, no matter, he'd be sure to bump into some engineer some time soon.  And in the meantime, Kirk grabbed the two nearest security guards and set out to start poking around in the Jeffries Tubes.

*  *  *

One of the engineers, whose name no one seems to recall, walked down a corridor.  He paused, noticing an open Jeffries Tube.  That was terrible.  Someone had been very careless, and if Mr. Scott heard about it they'd all be in for it.  Best to avoid the problem right now.  He closed up the Jeffries Tube, locked it securely, and continued on his way.

*  *  *

In a cramped Jeffries Tube, there was a dull clanging noise.

Kirk blinked, wondering what that was about.  Sounded like it had come from back at the entrance to the tube.  He could hardly check on it himself though, as there were two security guards between him and the corridor.  Consequently, he called down to the security guard nearest the bottom, "Lieutenant, see what that noise was about."

"Aye, Captain."

There were various shifting noises below as Lt. Simmons tried to climb back towards the entrance without damaging himself or the tube in the process.  Amazing how many sharp things poke out of the sides of Jeffries Tubes.  Kirk, meanwhile, continued climbing in what was more or less an upward direction.  If nothing turned up in another ten meters or so he was going to clear out of this one, and try somewhere else.  He wasn't even sure a Klingon would fit in here, and if he did he wouldn't bother climbing very far.

There was a thud, which indicated Simmons had made contact with the back end of the Tube.  Once he finished muttering 'ouch' to himself, he realized something.  Something bad.  He should have fallen out into the corridor, not bumped into something…   "Um…Captain?" Simmons said unhappily.

"Yeah?" Kirk said, not bothering to look down.  He couldn't see much past the other guard, Ensign Jones, anyway.

"Ah, well, I think we've got a problem…"

"What _is_ it, Lieutenant?" Kirk asked.

"Somebody shut the hatch, sir."

"So open it again."

"I can't, I think it's locked."

"We're trapped?  We're stuck in here?"  That was from Jones, not Kirk.

"Now, wait a minute, we don't _know_ it's locked.  If you both pushed together…"

Jones didn't wait for specific directions, and simply went plummeting back down the Tube, with a haste born of worry.  Near panic was making him incautious.

"_Ow_!"

"What happened?"

"Jones landed on my head!" Simmons complained, rubbing the injured part.

"Sorry."

Two people pushing proved no more successful than one though.  And there wasn't much point in Kirk trying to climb down and help, as there was no way the three of them could get into a position to push effectively in the narrow tube.

So in essence, they _were_ trapped.

"We're gonna die.  We're gonna die, an' we're gonna be stuck in here forever, an' we're gonna die," Jones chanted.

"We're _not_ going to die, Ensign!" Kirk snapped.

"Oh."  Jones took this under deep consideration.  "Okay, Captain."

Silence reigned in the Jeffries Tube.  For a few minutes anyway.

"Uh, Captain?"

"What?"

"_Why_ aren't we going to die?" Jones asked.

"Because we're _not_!"

"Oh."

"Someone's bound to realize we're missing soon and go looking for us, and eventually open that hatch.  So we're not going to be stuck in here forever, and we're _not_ going to die!"

*  *  *

Later:

"You know," Simmons said quietly, "I heard a story about an engineer who got locked in a Jeffries Tube once." 

"What happened to him?" Jones asked nervously.

"They found the body…_two months later_," Simmons said in a hushed voice.

Kirk slapped the palm of his hand against the side of the tube.  "That's it.  That is _it_."  He had had enough.  The two security guards were taking a very fatalistic view of the whole thing, and he had had enough.  "We're getting out of here.  Somehow."

"Um, how, sir?" Jones asked uncertainly.

"I don't know exactly, but we're going to climb through here until we find a vent, or an open hatch, or _something_!"

*  *  *

And Later: 

Funny how few vents you run across when you start crawling around the interior of the ship.  Not that it was all crawling through Jeffries Tubes.  Seemed there were several different ways to get around inside the ship.  There were the tubes of course, as well as the ventilation ducts.  And then there were the turbolift shafts, which ran both vertically and horizontally, as well as a few areas that seemed to be essentially crawl space between the living areas of the ship.  It wasn't too hard to move from one to the other, as they all seemed to twist and turn throughout the ship, and connect and interconnect more or less at random.  Kind of interesting if you could look at it objectively. 

No one was looking at it objectively just now.

"I think we're lost," Kirk was forced to admit, standing at the junction of two turbolift shafts.  Scotty probably could have found his way out in no time, but he wasn't here.  Kirk knew every inch of the corridors and rooms of the ship.  This interior stuff had him baffled though.

Simmons nodded vigorously.  "We're lost, oh yeah, we're lost."

"I don't think we're lost," Jones ventured to say.

Kirk turned to look at him, surprised.  "Really.  Where are we then?"

Jones shrugged.  "The _Enterprise_."

Kirk didn't know whether to laugh or groan.  He did neither, but just nodded, and gestured to the left passage.  "Let's go this way."

The two security guards followed without further comment.

*  *  *

And Still Later:

It was amazing how dusty some of these crawlspaces could get.  And how big.  This one was _almost_ tall enough to stand straight in.  And the dust was an inch deep on the floor, Kirk noted as it clung to his boots.  He also noted how bored he was, that he was noting things like dust.

Behind him, Simmons and Jones were talking.

"I heard a story about an engineer who died in an accident in the passageway of some ship," Simmons said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah.  And they say…that his ghost still haunts the depths of that ship."

"That's ridiculous," Kirk said.

"That's scary," Jones said.  He shivered.  "I don't like ghosts."

"Me neither," Simmons agreed fervently.

It was only a few seconds before the question arose.

"Say…do you think _we_ might see a gho—"

"No," Kirk said quickly.  "No ghosts here.  Not even one."

They weren't quite certain.

"I don't know sir…a lot of people have died on this ship," Simmons said.

Kirk started in to argue that, and realized he couldn't.  A lot of people _had_ died.  He went a different tack.  "Well…even _if_ we did run into some wandering spirit or something, I _out-rank_ any ghost we might meet!"

Jones and Simmons looked at each other, nodding.

"That makes sense," Simmons said.

"Yeah, it does."  But then a new thought occurred to Jones.  "But what if the ghost doesn't remember it's in Starfleet?"

Kirk didn't bother to come up with a new idea, and didn't wait for any new problems.  He pointed down a couple passageways.  "Simmons, look down that way.  Jones, try that one.  Look for…anything."  Maybe if he separated them briefly they'd give up the ghost stories.  It would give him a minute's respite anyway. 

"Aye, Captain."  They obediently trooped off.

It wasn't a long minute, as Jones was back almost immediately.

"Nothing much down there.  It dead-ends right away, Cap—eep!"  Jones had been walking.  Then he had encountered a loose bit of flooring, and, being Jones, proceeded to fall face-first into the dust.

Kirk tried very hard not to laugh.

Coughing, Jones scrambled back to his feet.  The dust was even clingier than Kirk had thought.  The unfortunate ensign was as white as a sheet.

Or as a ghost.

Which was precisely the conclusion Simmons drew when he came back a moment later.  He took one look at Jones, and screamed.  "Aaaaahhh!  It's the ghost!  It's the ghost!"  There weren't very many places to run and virtually nowhere to hide.  Simmons dove for what seemed like the safest place: cowering behind Kirk, arms firmly wrapped over his head, for whatever vague protection that would offer.

Kirk tried even harder not to laugh.  "Pull yourself together, Lieutenant.  It's just Jones."  

Simmons looked up long enough to say, "Jones died?  I _knew_ this place was dangerous!"  Then he went back to cowering.

"No!  He's not dead, he's just dusty!"

"Yeah.  Just dusty," Jones said, and sneezed.

Simmons took a furtive look at Jones, and concluded that maybe it _was_ just dust.  "Oh."  He straightened, clinging to the remnants of his dignity.  "That's all right then."

*  *  *

And Later Still:

They continued on down another crawlspace.  This one too was very large and very dusty.  Kirk was in the lead, Jones was at the rear.  All was proceeding.  Until…

"Captain!" Jones shrieked.

Kirk whirled.  "What?  What is it?"

Jones was pointing at something by his feet.  "_Giant gray tribble_!"

Kirk relaxed.  "Oh.  Well, at least we accomplished—"

"No, wait…"  Jones nudged the gray mass with the toe of his boot.  "It's a big dust bunny."

Kirk shook his head.  "I've got to get Scotty to clean this place up.  _When_ we get out of here."

*  *  *

And Even Later:

One can get lost very quickly.  Getting un-lost takes a lot longer.  They still hadn't managed it.  The _Enterprise_ wasn't all _that_ big, and yet…Kirk was practically ready to swear they'd gone all the way back to Starfleet Command.  On Earth.  And they still didn't know where they were.  Kirk had a new plan though.  All this traveling in horizontal passages and trying to keep track of lefts and rights clearly wasn't helping anything.  But it's pretty hard to mix up your ups and downs.  And if they kept moving up, sooner or later they'd hit the top of the ship, which was the most populated area.  Then, into the ventilation ducts and sooner or later they'd find a vent with some people on the other side.  This was all assuming they didn't wind up in the warp nacelles.  Kirk was willing to take the risk.  And he didn't mention the possibility to Jones and Simmons, so they couldn't exactly object.

So all of this is a very lengthy way to explain why they were all climbing up the side of a vertical turbolift shaft, on a conveniently placed ladder bolted into the side, for reasons unknown.  But whatever the reason, there it was so there they were, Jones, then Simmons, then Kirk at the bottom.  The security guards were a bit nervous about this endeavor, and Kirk figured that if he was below them they couldn't very well back out.  This didn't help their nerves though.

"You know," Simmons said quietly, "I was in a turbolift shaft once before."

"Yeah?" Jones said.

"Yeah.  And you know what happened?"

"What?"

"A _turbolift_ came!"

Jones shuddered.  "That's horrible!"

"But you obviously survived," Kirk pointed out.

"Well, yes, but not without a lot of mental anguish," Simmons said with dignity.

Mental…?  "Uh, sure."  Kirk was musing over that mental anguish line for the next minute or so, which may explain why he didn't immediately notice that the two security guards had stopped climbing.  He became acquainted with the fact when his head bumped Simmons' boots.  "What happened, why are we stopped?"  That was also when he first noticed that Jones was making some strange sounds.

"Er…ah, um…erg.  Ah…huh, ah, tur…uh…"

"What's he saying?" Kirk asked.

Simmons said something that resembled, "Eep!"

"_What_…?"

"Turbolift!" Jones finally managed to squeak out.  "Turbolift!  Coming!  Turbolift!"

Kirk leaned back as far as he dared from the ladder, and looked up.  Sure enough, far above but quickly approaching, was a turbolift.

"We're gonna die we're gonna die we're gonna die," Jones was jabbering.

"Stop talking and climb!" Kirk ordered.

"Yes, sir!"  Immediately a pair of boots descended on his head.

"No, not down!  Up!" Kirk said, trying to fend off Simmons' frantically kicking feet.

"_Towards the **turbolift**_?!" the twin chorus came.

"No, towards the side shaft ten feet above us!"

"Oh."

They climbed.

They went up slowly.

The turbolift came down fast.

But they weren't going nearly as far.

Jones frantically scrambled over the edge and rolled into the side passage, where he huddled, not quite believing the turbolift wouldn't come after him.  Simmons followed, with similar thoughts.

By now, the turbolift was very close.  Very close.

Kirk had to skip over the last two feet and jump.  He just barely rolled into the side passage and out of the way as the turbolift thundered past.

Thundered _past_, not hitting anyone.  Although the way Jones and Simmons shrieked, you would have thought they'd both been killed.

It was some time before Kirk could convince them to go back out into the turbolift shaft and continue climbing upwards.

*  *  *

And Latest of All:

Smith, security guard aboard the _Enterprise_, was having a problem.  Which was why he was in Sickbay, explaining to Dr. McCoy about how he had recently gone insane.  Smith, not McCoy.

"I'm telling you, Doctor, I've lost it!  Gone totally bonkers!  Absolutely off my rocker!" Smith insisted wildly.

McCoy nodded, the picture of professional calm.  "I see.  And what exactly leads you to make this diagnosis?"

"I've been hearing things all afternoon.  And not just _things_, I've been hearing _screams_!"

"Screams?"

"Screams!  Shrieks!  First I was walking down a corridor, and I hear this scream overhead.  I look.  No one's there.  And while I'm looking at this empty corridor, I hear these shrieks about a ghost!  And then later, I'm in my quarters.  And I hear this yelling about a tribble!  Coming from the walls!  So I'm getting kind of freaked by now.  Then later, I'm in a turbolift, and you know what I hear?"

"Screams?"

"Yes!  _Screams_!  I'm going crazy, Doctor!"

"Well, we'll see."  Privately, McCoy rather felt Smith might be right.  Too much stress perhaps.  He wasn't going to tell _him_ that though.  "So, have you ever heard voices…before…"  He trailed off.  Frowned.  He could have sworn he'd just heard…yes, there it was again.  Voices, from overhead.

"See?!  See?!  I'm hearing 'em again!" Smith jabbered.

"You're not hearing things.   There really are voices.  I can hear them too."  McCoy tried to pinpoint where the sounds were coming from…he couldn't quite tell, just as he couldn't quite make out the words.  He walked towards the back wall, and as he did the voices grew louder, until he could hear them pretty clearly.

"I think it's Sickbay."

"I don't know, this is a terrible angle, can hardly see anything."

McCoy frowned, puzzled.  Both voices sounded familiar.

"I think it's Sickbay.  I spend lots of time in Sickbay."

"Yes, so I've heard.  If it is Sickbay there should be people…"

McCoy had finally figured it out.  The voices were coming out of the large vent near the ceiling.  He walked closer, peered at it.

"It _is_ Sickbay.  See, there's Dr. McCoy."

"Where…oh.  Hi, Bones."

McCoy blinked.  He tried to make sense of it all, and found that that wasn't an easy task.  "Um, Jim, _why_ exactly are you in the ventilation system?  And who else is in there…"  A second face moved into view.  "Of course.  Jones.  _That_ figures."

"Yeah, well, it's kind of a long story…could you get the vent…"

Having gotten past the initial shock, McCoy found that he was almost enjoying this.  "So any more people up there?"

"Just Simmons.  Now about the vent…"

"I should have expected that, he's in here almost as much as Jones."

"Right.  So the vent…"

It took a little while longer, but eventually McCoy had mercy and got Smith to help pull the vent off.  Kirk climbed out, Jones and Simmons fell out, the vent went back on, and things at least resembled normalcy again.  Jones and Simmons trooped off to their respective quarters to rest after their difficult ordeal, Smith, assured that he wasn't crazy, went back to his normal duties, and Kirk stuck around Sickbay for the sake of ranting.

"Never again.  _Never_ again!" Kirk swore.  "If I ever try to climb into another Jeffries Tube, shoot me, tie me up, do _something_, just don't let me in there!"

"I'll make a note of it.  But seriously, it can't have been that bad."

"Hah!  While Simmons and Jones are perfectly good people, they were both completely convinced that we were all going to die.  And all they wanted to talk about was stories they'd heard about how people had died.  It was enough to drive a saint crazy!"

"I'll take your word on that one."

"Anyway, never again, that's for sure."  A bit calmer for having ranted, Kirk turned to other matters.  "So have you at least found the tribble?"

McCoy coughed.  "The, ah, tribble?"

"Yes.  The tribble.  Did you ever find it?"

"You know, that's really kind of a funny story, Jim, really kind of, uh…"  McCoy trailed off.

Kirk wasn't letting him evade the subject though.  "Bones.  I want to know about the tribble."

"There, um, well, there wasn't any tribble."

"There wasn't any tribble?" Kirk said quietly.

"No.  There wasn't," McCoy admitted.  "See, Scotty had this idea that he could set the transporters to transport any living creatures under…I think it was fifteen pounds, to have a safe margin."

"And…?"

"Well, he got Surak, a couple other pets, a few lab animals, and…"

"No tribble?"

"No tribble.  Kagon must have made it up."

"I went crawling through the interior of this ship, and there wasn't even any tribble?!"

"Well look on the bright side, Jim.  You saw parts of the _Enterprise_ you've never seen before."

"And you know something, Bones?  I wasn't missing anything!"

Heehee, poor Jim.  Oh well, he'll survive.

Next chapter…no idea what my next chapter is.  Something funny I hope.  Be up as soon as possible! : )


	35. The Invisible Ensign

Disclaimer: Um…Paramount.  No one sue.

Alania: Glad you like. : )  I'll see if I can get a few more reactions in, but the plot possibilities are a lot more limited.

Beedrill: I don't know where the ideas come from, they just come…and the Jones action-figure?  It's a little scary…  But kinda cool.  And it's funny you should mention spleens, because Jones almost had a bruised spleen once…don't ask why or why not, it's just one of those things.  And about the fish.  I love that commercial!

A.M.: : ) I love reviews.  And I love reviewers.  And the tropical island thing…that has distinct possibilities.  I'll work on it.

Lisa: Spatulas!  Giggle.

Ms. Vegeta Black: So pleased you enjoyed. : )

Blynneda: Glad you liked the McCoy Spock dialogue.  I almost cut it out because the chapter was too long.  Good thing I didn't.  LOL, I know what scene you mean, and it _was_ Simmons.  I reread it before writing that part, actually.

Taskemus: You're obsessed with reading it, and I'm fast becoming obsessed with writing it.  Maybe not obsessed but…y'know.  Funny how that happens.

Emp: Wait…which part?  I'm glad it was funny, but what part did you mean?  I'm confused!!

Solidchristian_88: hmm…let's see how many chapters we can go before you _do_ laugh, lol.

Some credit here has to go to Whatzhername, because her e-mail about invisible Joneses prompted this one.  I don't think she meant to, but…my mind works in straaaange ways.

Chapter Thirty-Five:

The Invisible Ensign

_The setting this particular morning on the Enterprise is the bridge.  Present for reasons unrelated to this story was Ensign Jones.  Likewise present, as he usually is, was Captain Kirk.  Along with just about everyone else who's usually on the bridge.  With the one exception of Spock.  And as it happened, Kirk wanted to talk to Spock about something, the details of which are also unrelated to this story.  What is related is that Kirk chanced to ask Jones to go find Spock, who was down in one of the science labs.  Which is when the actual narrative of this story begins._

"Mr. Spock, Captain Kirk wants to see you," Jones said.

"Thank you, Ensign."  Spock had been in the middle of mixing some various chemicals, the details of the experiment guaranteed to bore you.  He sealed up a bottle of some murky red liquid and returned it to the shelf behind him.  "I assume the Captain is on the bridge?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good."  Spock nodded to Jones, and exited.

Jones didn't follow immediately.  He hung around a bit, just looking around.  Since he was a security guard, he didn't visit science labs often.  It was really kind of interesting, in a very complicated, I-don't-know-what-any-of-this-stuff-is, sort of way.  All sorts of liquids and powders and complex apparatuses.  He studied a particularly tall one, slowly backing up as he did so.  Being fully human and therefore lacking eyes in the back of his head, he didn't see the shelves behind him.  Not until he crashed into them and bottles crashed over him.  Jones yelped, swung his arms around, knocked more bottles down, slipped, and fell.

Jones slowly got back to his feet, brushing sticky powders and bits of glass off his legs.  He glanced down as he did so, and froze.    He could feel his hands passing over his legs.  But he couldn't see his legs.  Or his hands, for that matter.  A quick glance revealed that, as far as appearances went, he had completely disappeared.

Jones, being Jones, took the only reasonable course of action.  He panicked.  And fled out of the lab and down the corridor, shrieking.

Fortunately for the sanity of the crew in general, that section of the ship was fairly empty just then.  Only one lone security guard in that particular corridor…

*  *  *

A wild-eyed young lieutenant dashed into Sickbay.  He spotted McCoy, and darted over to him.  "Doctor!  You gotta help me!"

McCoy glanced at him, completed the diagnostic he was running through on his tricorder, and then set it down on the counter.  "Having a problem, Smith?"

"I'm going crazy!"

"Again?"

"_Yes_!"

"Sure," McCoy said skeptically.  "What happened this time?"

"I'm hearing screams again!"

"Uh-huh.  Did you check the vents?"

"It was different this time!  It wasn't coming from the walls!  I heard shrieks, and footsteps, just exactly like someone was running past.  But no one was there!"

"Hmm.  Well…either stress is getting to you or an extremely well camouflaged alien is running through this ship.  Can't hurt to give you a neural scan, I guess."

"You're gonna find out I'm off my rocker!" Smith warned.

"We'll see."

That's not what they found out though.  They found out that, as far as 23rd century medicine could tell, Smith had a perfectly healthy brain.  McCoy studied the results, frowned, and walked over to the comm unit.  "McCoy to bridge."

"Kirk here.  What do you need, Bones?"

"Nothing, really.  Just making sure you're not in the ventilation system right now."

McCoy could tell just from Kirk's tone of voice that he was being given a very strange look.  "Why would I be in the vents?  Especially after I swore that never, _ever_ again would I—"

"Yes, I remember," McCoy interrupted.  "It's just that Smith is hearing voices again.  And I can't find anything in my scans that indicates that it's him.  So I had to figure either you were in the vents or something invisible is loose on this ship."

Kirk suddenly became very interested.  "You think there's something invisible running around?"

"Jim, I was _kidding_, how could—"

"But _something_ strange is happening."

"Well, yes, I guess so—"

"I think I'll come down.  Investigate."

"It's probably noth—"

"I'll be right down.  Kirk out."

It wasn't much later that Kirk entered Sickbay.  He didn't have the expression of keen interest one would have expected though.  Instead he looked…stunned.

"Hello, Jim," McCoy said, and frowned.  "You look…stunned."

"I just had the strangest experience," Kirk said.

"And coming from you, that's saying a lot," McCoy commented.  "What happened?"

"I was walking down the corridor, and I tripped."

"That's not strange.  I don't care how well-coordinated you are, everybody—"

"No, wait.  See, I could feel myself tripping _over_ something."

"That's not strange either."

"But when I looked…nothing was there."

McCoy blinked.  "_That_ is _strange_."

They finally had to conclude that, implausible as it sounded, perhaps something invisible _was_ on the ship.  Kirk had certainly tripped over something, despite the fact that nothing visible was there.  And once the idea had been suggested to Smith, he was willing to swear that he'd seen an invisible man.

"You know what, we ought to…" Kirk trailed off, suddenly noticing something.  He looked at Surak oddly.

The small black cat was sitting on the floor in the middle of Sickbay, and staring fixedly at an empty space.

"Is he looking at something?" Kirk asked.

"Meow!" Surak said insistently.

"Ignore him," McCoy advised.  "Cats are always staring at nothing."

"Oh.  Well, anyway, we ought to call a department heads' meeting."

"Why?"

Kirk shrugged.  "I don't know.  But whenever something weird happens, I call a department heads' meeting."

McCoy nodded.  "That makes sense.  Almost."

*  *  *

Jones was not having a good day.  First, of course, he'd become invisible.  And then he'd run shrieking through the corridors.  His breath ran out before the corridors did, and after that he'd slowed down.  Also calmed down somewhat.  And proceeded to wander aimlessly around the ship, not quite daring to try to talk to anyone.

He'd finally sat down on the floor against one wall, legs stretched out into the corridor.  At least, he was pretty sure that's where they were.  It's a very disconcerting thing to not be able to see your own legs.  So, he was sitting there, feeling depressed, when Captain Kirk came along.  And tripped over him.  That didn't help his mood any, though he supposed it was really more his own fault than the Captain's.

And then he followed Kirk into Sickbay, where he found out that he was driving Smith towards extreme mental instability.  He also came to the disconcerting realization that the cat could, apparently, see him.  But cats are like that.  Mysterious.  More to the plot, Jones also heard about the department heads' meeting, and decided that perhaps he should go.

*  *  *

"There must be some alternate explanation that is more plausible," Spock said, for at least the third time.

The department heads' meeting had somehow degenerated into Kirk arguing that something invisible was running around, and Spock arguing that such was impossible to known science.  Everyone else sat and listened and didn't know quite what to think about the whole thing.

"You'd be saying differently if you'd tripped over an empty corridor," Kirk insisted.

"Perhaps," Spock acknowledged.  "But the fact remains, no one has ever been proven to be successfully turned invisible."

"Until now," a small voice said.

Heads turned all around the table.

"Who said that?" Kirk demanded.  "And…where are you?"

"Over here."  This wasn't helpful, except in establishing that no one at the table was doing the talking.  No one visible anyway.

"_Where's here_?" Kirk asked, not very patiently.

"Over _here_," the voice repeated, but fortunately went on.  "Next to Mr. Spock."  And sure enough, the apparently empty chair on Spock's left swiveled slightly.

"Okay, now we know where you are, but who are you?  And how did you get here?  And why—"

"Wait a minute, Jim," McCoy interrupted, and squinted at the apparently empty chair as though that would help him see its occupant.  "Jones, is that you?"

"Hi, Doctor," Jones said sheepishly, and may have waved although no one could see that, of course.

Kirk blinked.  Twice.  "Ensign…how…?

"Well, um…y'know you sent me to look for Mr. Spock?"

"Right."  Kirk turned to Spock.  "He was visible when you last saw him, right?"

"Captain, by definition, in order for me to 'last see him' he _must_ have been visible, so—"

"Never mind.  Go on, Ensign."

"Yes, sir.  So Mr. Spock left, and I was looking at some really tall thing with lots of tubes and chemicals and stuff, and I bumped into some shelves.  And all this stuff spilled on me.  And when I got up, I couldn't see myself anymore.  It's really weird to not be able to see myself," he added thoughtfully.

"I would expect so."  Kirk tried to think this through.  "So chemicals fell, and then you were invisible?"

"Basically, sir."

"That's amazing," Kirk said.

"It's better than amazing," McCoy interjected.  Something had just occurred to him.  "Spock, do you know what you said just two minutes ago?  You said that it was _impossible_ for there to be an invisible person.  You all heard him, right?  Well…"  McCoy beamed.  "Here we have an invisible man!  _You_ were wrong."

"On the contrary, Doctor," Spock said mildly.  "I said, two-point-seven minutes ago, that it was impossible to _known science_ to make anyone invisible.  Two-point-seven minutes ago, the fact of Ensign Jones' invisibility was _not_ known to science.  So therefore, while the statement is no longer accurate, it was completely true at the time of my saying it."

"Oh for…" McCoy groaned.  "Impossible he says!  I'll _tell_ you what's impossible!  _Certain_ Vulcans who cannot _admit_—"

"Argue it later," Kirk interrupted.  "Right now, we need to deal with the concrete proof of the impossibility."

And all eyes turned towards Jones, who probably would have squirmed and turned red under the scrutiny except that at least half the group was actually looking at a spot slightly to his left.

*  *  *

It wasn't easy to figure out what exactly to do with an invisible man.  They finally went for having McCoy run some scans, try and find out…anything.  They definitely didn't know quite what to do with Jones.

Jones didn't know quite what to do with himself either.  What are invisible people supposed to do with themselves?  The only precedent he could recall was Wells' _The Invisible Man_, and that guy had gone insane.  Jones was more depressed than insane.

"You need to look on the bright side of this," McCoy advised.

"What bright side?" Jones asked morosely.

"Well…you'll never have to wonder what to wear for a date," McCoy suggested.

"Sure.  Because no one dates invisible people!"

As chance would have it, Denise happened to be walking through in time to catch that last exchange.  "You know, Sam," she said, "you sound _awfully_ sure of that."

"Sure I'm…oh.  Er…"

"_And_ no one can tell if you're blushing," McCoy added.  "_Another_ plus."

"I'm _not_ blushing," Jones insisted, just a little too strongly.

"Of course not," McCoy agreed.

But we'll move on, so as not to embarrass the poor Ensign further.  And poor is an accurate adjective, as the final result of McCoy's scans was that returning Jones to full visibility would not be a simple matter.  So they called in Spock, for consultation purposes.  Spock read over the data, and came to a conclusion.

"I believe the most expedient solution may be to repeat the initial accident," Spock concluded.

"You want to drop bottles on me again?" Jones squeaked.  "That hurt!"

"Why would that solve anything?" McCoy demanded.  "That would just make him more…"  He considered.  "Well, I guess he _can't_ be _more_ invisible."

"Precisely.  That observation is the key to the entire theory."  Spock hesitated.  "The precise details are somewhat difficult to explain."

McCoy's eyes glinted.  "Try."

Spock rose to the challenge.  "It is an acceptable margin of error to consider that a state which cannot proceed by degrees will, as alternative means of advancing, follow a cyclical pattern.  Therefore, when it is contrary to reason to be invisible to a certain extent, the cyclical pattern should logically become prevailing.  To repeat the initial occurrence which set the cycle into being should—"

"Stop trying."  McCoy had heard plenty.  And he almost understood it, too.  "So what you're trying to say is, repeating the thing that made him invisible will push the cycle around and make him visible?"

"Essentially."

McCoy shrugged.  "Sounds strange, but it can't hurt to try it."

"Sure.  Can't hurt _you_," Jones muttered darkly.

"It can't be that bad, Ensign.  It's not like it did any real damage the first time," McCoy said practically.  "It's not likely to do much this time either, except maybe make you visible.  And that's worth the risk, right?"  A pause.  "_Right_?"  Another pause.  "Jones?"  A third pause, and McCoy frowned.  "You're trying to sneak out the door, aren't you?"

"_Rats_."

"Don't bother, because we're going through with this.  For your own good, remember that."

*  *  *

With the aid of Spock's phenomenal memory and the computer's even more phenomenal database, they were able to set up the shelves with very nearly identical contents to those that had spilled on Jones.  And then they were ready to proceed.  Or at least, Spock and McCoy were.

"Ready, Ensign?" McCoy asked.

"Yes."

McCoy was about to tip the shelves over, with the intention of sending the contents on to Jones, when Spock interrupted.  "A moment, Doctor," he said.  "Ensign, if you are in front of the shelves, why is your voice coming from behind me?"

Jones was clearly flabbergasted.  "How can you _tell_ that?"

Spock shrugged very slightly.  "It's the ears."

Spock, of course, meant this entirely factually.  The configuration of the Vulcan ear, specifically the point, allows for hearing to a degree beyond that possible to someone with Terran ears.  Spock saw no humor in the statement.

McCoy saw things differently.

Spock raised one eyebrow, and gave him a look.  "Something amuses you, Doctor?"

"No," McCoy gasped between poorly concealed bursts of laughter.  "No, nothing.  Nothing at all, no."

"Indeed."

"Anyway…" McCoy said, regaining some semblance of control.  "In front of the shelves _now_, Ensign?"

"Ye-es…"

"And now you are by the counter," Spock noted.

"Yeah, well…"  The Ensign was somewhat nervous.  "I've been _thinking_…you don't _know_ this follows a…a circle rhythm thing…"

"A cyclical pattern," Spock said smoothly.

"Right, that.  But what if it doesn't?  What if this time I end up intangible?  Or pass through things?  Or can't talk?  Or cease to exist entirely!"

"That is unlikely," Spock said impassively.

"Unlikely!" Jones squeaked.

"Very unlikely," Spock amended.

"_Unlikely_!" Jones' voice was rising in pitch.

"Virtually impossible."

"_Virtually_!"

Over the course of the exchange, McCoy had been moving.  He circled around behind Spock, and moved over to the counter.  By following Jones' voice—to the best of is ability as a limited, round-eared Terran—he managed to locate the decidedly anxious Ensign, and got a hold on his arm.

"Get a grip, Ensign.  You're just going to have to trust Spock.  I don't understand it, and you don't understand it, but somewhere in that Vulcan brain _he_ apparently does.  And with the expert knowledge of someone who's spent years trying to prove him wrong, let me tell you, it's not an easy thing to do."

"But _have_ you done it?"

McCoy grinned.  "Yes.  A few times."

This didn't help Jones.  "There, see?  _See_!"

By now, though, Spock had come around and had hold of Jones' other arm.  And there was no way he was going to slip away from both of them.

"You're going to thank us for this one day, Ensign," McCoy promised, and they pushed him against the shelves.

There was a big crash.  Mingled with a yelp, and more crashing.  And then, against all common sense and directly in line with convoluted Vulcan logic, Jones slowly shimmered his way into visibility.  McCoy almost felt a faint twinge of disappointment.  Had Jones remained invisible, he never would have let Spock hear the end of it.

I have noticed something.  Jones is slowly but surely taking over.  He had a major part in the last one, he had a major part in this one, and he'll be major in next chapter too.  So I was thinking…how about a spin-off?  "The Adventures of Ensign Jones" maybe.  Comments, anyone?


	36. One Day on the Enterprise

Disclaimer: Star Trek isn't mine.  It's Paramount's.  I'm not sure Paramount would really want the rights to this particular chapter.  Paramount's really too serious for it's own good.

Beedrill: Yeah, poor Jones.  : )  As you will find out at the end, I didn't have time for binary code for this disclaimer.  Next chap.

Skitz: I'm glad you like my stories.  But, as I think I said in response to someone else many chapters ago, slash isn't going to be happening because I don't read slash or want to.  Still glad you liked.  : )

Eva: I _love_ making people laugh!

Taskemus: That was the thing about Spock's phenomenal memory.  They recreated the chemicals that were on the shelf.

Blynneda: I don't mind when you quote me, it tells me which parts were funny. : )  And _all_ red-shirts are throw-away characters, by definition.

Emp: Y'know, we all ought to organize some sort of chapter-of-the-month contest story…just in general, it's a cool idea.

Solidchristian_88: I'm sure Spock did think it out more.  Remember, McCoy interrupted his detailed explanation.

Silverfang: Cats are mysterious creatures… 

Everyone seems to be in favor of The Adventures of Ensign Jones, for which I'm very glad.  Unfortunately, I took stock of everything I'm working on right now (React, an A/U TOS novel, hopefully posted soon, an original novel, and school) and decided adding a fifth thing would cause severe stress and possible breakdown.  So, sorry if I got your hopes up or anything, but I think Jones' spin-off is going to be put off till I have more time.  Summer, maybe.

In the meantime, after this loooong intro, enjoy the chapter.

Chapter Thirty-Six:

One Day on the Enterprise

_In a random corridor of the Enterprise one afternoon:_

"Hey, Jim," McCoy called.  "Do you realize what tomorrow is?"

Kirk paused in his walking down the corridor, turned, and faced McCoy.  He was about to say, 'no, what?' when some instinct of self-preservation kicked in.  He'd heard this question before.  From McCoy.  A while ago, but still.  He concentrated for a moment.  There.  He had it.  The fourth Tuesday in November.

"Absolutely not," he said quickly.  "No, I'm not interested, no, sorry, I don't want to know."

"Aw, come on, Jim.  I'll tell you straight out, I promise!"

"Thanks, but no thanks."  Kirk turned, and continued down the corridor at a slightly faster pace.

"You can't say I didn't try to warn you!" McCoy called after him.

Kirk ignored him.

*  *  *

The next morning:

When Kirk woke up, it was a perfectly normal day.  It continued to be a normal day until he tried to go to the bridge.

The door opened.

And Kirk looked out on a steaming flood of murky brown liquid that smelled strangely of tea.

Kirk jumped back on instinct and the doors slid neatly shut.  He rubbed his eyes, wondered what the galaxy was going on, and cautiously stepped forward.

The door opened.

No tea.  Kirk looked suspiciously up and down the corridor.  No tea.  No sign that the tea had ever been there.  He blinked three times, muttered something about not getting enough sleep, and continued towards the bridge.

Things remained normal most of the way.  Except when he turned a corner towards a turbolift, and saw two security guards in capes shooting rubber bands at each other.

Kirk took a different turbolift.

Arriving at the bridge, though, put all thoughts of tea and rubber bands out of his head.

"We have a slight problem," Spock said from near the science station.

"_That_ is an understatement," McCoy told him.

Kirk stared. The bridge was covered—literally covered—with tribbles.  Not an inch of floor space was visible anywhere.  In some places, they were knee-deep.

"What _happened_?" Kirk asked.

"We seem to be infested by tribbles," McCoy explained, idly petting a tribble.

"I can see _that_!  _How_ did this happen?  We didn't have _any_ tribbles yesterday!"

"Tribbles multiply very quickly," Spock said.

"Not this quickly!" Kirk argued, gingerly wading through the mounds of tribbles to his command chair.  When he got there, he had to move half-a-dozen tribbles before he could sit down.  Once he was seated, he called engineering.  "Scotty, we've got tribbles all over the bridge!  Can you beam them somewhere else?"

"Oh, aye, Captain," Scotty said agreeably.  "I'll send 'em to the Klingon ship."

There was a pause.  And then Kirk asked, even though he knew he didn't really want to know the answer.

"_What_ Klingon ship?!"

"Why, the one right outside, Captain!"

Kirk looked at the viewscreen, and discovered that it appeared to be showing reruns of _Gilligan's Island_.  Why hadn't he noticed that before?  "Mr. Sulu, get me a view of the outside."

Sulu looked puzzled.  "But this _is_ a view of the outside.  See, there's the palm trees, and the lagoon, and—"

"Outside the _ship_!"

"Oh.  Yes, sir."

The screen reverted to normalcy, showing the familiar star-specked blackness of space.  And the equally familiar but less pleasant Klingon cruiser.

"Hail the Klingons!" Kirk ordered.

"Hailing frequencies open."

The starscape vanished, momentarily showed the Professor and the Skipper, shimmered, and finally showed the Klingon captain.  Koloth.

"Captain Koloth, you have taken your ship into Federation territory in clear treaty-violation—" Kirk began.  He never got farther.

"That is _no_ way to greet old friends, Jim!" Koloth interrupted, faintly scolding.

Kirk blinked.  "Friends?"

"And it's not as though we're here for hostile purposes!"

Kirk blinked again.  "You're not?"

"Of course not.  We're here for the party!"

"Party?"  Kirk was beginning to feel like an echo.

"Right indeed!  It's Yeoman Rand's birthday, you know."

"Oh," Kirk said weakly.  The Klingons were here for a…birthday party?

"So, we've come for the sole purpose of attending the marvelous party Khan is throwing in Rec Room Twelve."

"We have Twelve Rec Rooms?" Kirk murmured idly.  And then it hit.  "KHAN?  As in…Noonien Singh, _Khan_?"

"No, Genghis."

"_Genghis Kahn_?"

"Of course not!  Khan Noonien Singh, naturally.  I hear it's a gala affair.  Tell him we'll be by soon."

And with that, the viewscreen blinked back to Gilligan being chased by several natives.  Kirk was somewhat stunned.  The galaxy was not playing by the rules he was familiar with.  And while he frequently made a habit of changing the rules himself, it was something else entirely when the galaxy started changing them on him.

"What's going _on_ today?" he asked plaintively.

"I don't know, but I have an appointment with some pancakes," McCoy said cheerfully.

"This is no time to be eating breakfast!" Kirk snapped.

"Who said anything about eating?" McCoy demanded.  "I said I had an appointment.  I do."

"This I must see," Spock said.

The two of them climbed over the tribbles, to the turbolift, and left.  Kirk barely had time to react to this when the turbolift opened again, and out came Ensign Jones.  Jones saw the tribbles, and freaked.

"Aaaahhh!  Tribbles!" Jones fled, shrieking, across the stage.

The tribbles, in a great purring mass, picked up and chased after him.  Within moments the bridge was clear, and the only sign that they had ever been there was a distant scream, and a vague rumble of purrs, both of which faded into the distance.

Kirk was feeling very confused.  But before he had time to sort out what exactly was so confusing, more trouble arrived.

"Captain!  Romulan bird-of-prey decloaking off our port bow!" Uhura announced.

"Viewscreen," Kirk snapped.

"But…Gilligan's about to be in a spear-throwing contest to win the native girl…" Sulu complained.

"I don't care!  I want to see the Romulans!"

"Grouch," Sulu muttered, but the screen switched over to the Romulan Commander.

Kirk blinked several times.  "_Sarek_?"

"No, no, no," the man on the screen who looked an awful lot like Spock's father said.  "I'm the Romulan Commander who doesn't have a name but looks an awful lot like Spock's father, and who's actually supposed to be dead."

It took Kirk a minute to process that one.  "Um…okay.  What are you _doing_ here?"

"Well, we're not actually interested in you.  We want to fight the Klingons.  Do you mind if we use your ship as a site for hand-to-hand combat with the Klingon warriors?"

"Hand-to-hand combat?  _My_ ship?"

The Romulan Commander shrugged.  "Neutral ground."

"_My_ ship?!"

"Glad you agree.  We'll be along shortly."

The screen jumped back to a shot of coconuts falling on a native warrior.

Kirk had the odd feeling that he was drowning.  In madness.

"Has anyone else noticed that strange things are going on?" he asked rhetorically.

Any answer was interrupted by the entrance of McCoy, Spock, and several pancakes.  The pancakes were large and golden, with legs, arms, and large blue eyes.

"And this is the bridge," McCoy was saying.  "That confused looking guy over there is the Captain."

The pancakes blinked their blue eyes, and nodded, despite not having any necks.

"Walking pancakes…" Kirk said dazedly.

McCoy studied Kirk carefully.  "Y'know, I think you better go back to the Mess Hall.  He looks like he could snap at any moment, and things could get messy."

The pancakes hurried back into the turbolift.  Spock and McCoy took up positions near the science station.

Kirk tried to sort everything out, and failed.  "This has been…a very _strange_ day…" he said slowly.

"There have been many illogical events," McCoy acknowledged.

"Well that's a helpful comment," Spock told him.  "We know it's illogical."

"I was merely making a statement."

"A useless one."

"And what advice do you offer?"

Spock shrugged.  "It's a strange day.

McCoy nodded sagely.  "Yes, that is _much_ more useful."

"Now see _here_," Spock said hotly, "you round-eared, red-blooded _human_—"

"That's it," Kirk interrupted.  He'd had enough.  Tea, rubber bands, tribbles, Klingons, Gilligan's Island, Khan, Romulans, walking pancakes…all these things he could handle.  But McCoy and Spock switching personalities?  _That_ was too much.  He'd have to give it up.  He suspected there was one way to find the answer to all this, and much as he regretted it he had no further choice.  He sighed.  "All right, Bones," he said, resigned.  "Go ahead and tell me."

"Tell you what?" McCoy asked.

"You _know_.  So tell me."

McCoy was merciless.  He shook his head.  "I don't know what you're talking about."

"The _day_," Kirk said through gritted teeth.  "Tell me what _today_ is."

McCoy beamed.  "Well, yesterday was March thirty-first.  Which means _today_ is April first.  Commonly known as _April Fool's Day_."

I have no explanation.  This is, very simply, an utterly random chapter with no connection whatsoever to the chapters before and after it.  If you go looking for a logical answer to every event here, I pity you.  This is just a pleasantly strange story for April Fool's Day.

It's been an interesting day.  I spent much of it writing this story.  Y'see, the idea of an April Fool's chapter didn't occur to me until this morning, roughly seven o'clock.  I finished writing this chapter by eleven, posted later in the afternoon.  Definitely the fastest chapter I've ever created.  The next chapter, which took me considerably longer to write, is also just about done, and should be up soon.  In the meantime, review. : )


	37. A Night on the Town

0100010001101001011100110110001101101100011000010110100101101101011001010111 0010001110100010000001010011011101000110000101110010001000000101010001110010 0110010101101011001000000110100101110011011011100010011101110100001000000110 1101011010010110111001100101001011100010000000100000010010010111010000100000 0110001001100101011011000110111101101110011001110111001100100000011101000110 1111001000000101000001100001011100100110000101101101011011110111010101101110 0111010000101110 (Happy, Beedrill? Man, that's long.)  
  
  
  
A/N: I'm going to try something wild and new. I'm going to reply to reviews at the end of the chapter. It occurs to me they're getting very, very long. In any case, on with the chapter. Tying up one more loose end from the Klingon saga.  
  
  
  
Chapter Thirty-Seven:  
  
A Night on the Town  
  
  
  
The Enterprise has come into orbit around a Federation planet. It is unremarkable enough, though a reasonably popular tourist place. Shore leave, although brief, will no doubt be occurring:  
  
The atmosphere on the bridge was quiet. Uneventful, peaceful, maybe a little dull. And then the turbolift doors opened, and Dr. McCoy stepped out. So much for quiet.  
  
"Do you realize what that is down there?" McCoy asked the bridge in general, pointing at the viewscreen.  
  
Kirk glanced at the screen idly, then glanced back at McCoy. "A planet?"  
  
"Not just a planet, Jim. A halfway civilized planet!" McCoy said cheerfully, and shot a pointed glance in Spock's direction. The Vulcan looked back, impassively.  
  
Kirk blinked. "Halfway civilized?"  
  
"Yes!"  
  
Kirk grinned. "How can you be sure it's not two-thirds civilized?"  
  
"Or how about four-fifths?" Sulu suggested.  
  
"Three-quarters, maybe," Uhura added.  
  
"Or four-eighths," Chekov contributed.  
  
"Six-twenty-fifths. Approximately. Taking into account those portions of the planet covered in water."  
  
That was Spock. Of course.  
  
The bridge fell momentarily silent after this interesting observation, and McCoy took the opportunity to regain control of the situation.  
  
"Anyway, we've come into orbit around a halfway civilized planet. And do you know what that means?"  
  
Kirk thought about it, and reached a conclusion. "No."  
  
McCoy turned, and faced the back ramp, and the science station. "It means that it's time for Spock to pay up!"  
  
Kirk was puzzled. "It means what?"  
  
"We had that bet, remember? About the Klingons showing up? Well, the Klingons showed up. So that means I was right, and Spock was wrong, and now that we've come to a halfway civilized planet, he owes me dinner."  
  
Spock nodded. "According to the initial terms of the agreement, the Doctor is correct."  
  
"There. See?" McCoy said.  
  
"And you had to come to the bridge and announce this?"  
  
"Well," McCoy grinned good-naturedly, "after all the times he's been right and I've been wrong, I figured the occasion warranted it. And also, you're invited to come."  
  
"Me?"  
  
"Yes." McCoy glanced around the bridge. "And anyone else who wants to come too. Right, Spock?"  
  
"Indeed."  
  
"Wait a minute," Kirk interrupted, with the vague idea that his chief medical officer was cheating his first officer. "How can.?"  
  
"That was the deal," McCoy explained.  
  
"Correct. The dinner was to be yourself Captain, the Doctor, and myself, as well as-as I believe the Doctor put it-'anyone else we happen to drag along.'"  
  
"See? I'm completely within my rights."  
  
"An accurate sum of the situation," Spock agreed.  
  
"Well, if you say so," Kirk said.  
  
McCoy was looking at Spock suspiciously. "Hey, wait a sec. I just noticed something."  
  
"Have you, Doctor?" Spock asked politely.  
  
"You've agreed with everything I've said in relation to this bet!"  
  
"Because you have not been inaccurate."  
  
"Jim." McCoy moaned. "He's doing it again."  
  
"Doing what?" Kirk asked. He had a suspicion though.  
  
"Agreeing with me! Refusing to argue! And where's the fun when the other guy refuses to argue about it!"  
  
Kirk looked at McCoy, and then at Spock. "Well! I hope you're properly ashamed, Spock."  
  
"I believe I am," Spock said thoughtfully.  
  
That turned heads.  
  
"You're.you're what?" McCoy gaped.  
  
"'Properly ashamed.' I see no cause for feeling shame, and I do not feel shame. Therefore, I am 'properly' ashamed."  
  
McCoy groaned. Kirk laughed. The rest of the bridge crew was with Kirk.  
  
"Very funny, Spock. But you can agree with me all you like. You still owe me dinner. And anyone who wants to come, be in the transporter room at six. Feel free to bring a friend."  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
McCoy wasn't the only one on the ship who'd noticed the planet they were around. And the bridge crew definitely weren't the only ones interested in a short shore leave. No, there was interest across all the departments. In science, medicine, engineering and general operations. And security.  
  
Four members of security were currently engaged in planning their shore leave, in fact. Lt. Commander Gray, Lts. Simmons and Smith, and Ensign Jones were all in Rec Room Three, gathered around a computer screen, examining the planet's official web page.  
  
"'The Adventure Planet,'" Gray read aloud. "Interesting way to bill yourself. Should be a good place for shore leave."  
  
"Yeah. But what, exactly, do they mean by adventure?" Jones asked, just a trifle nervously.  
  
"Come on, Jones! Live a little!" Gray told him.  
  
The fact remained, though, that Gray was the only one who didn't look just a little apprehensive. Maybe it was because they were all red-shirts. But then, so was Gray. But he was chief of security, and when you have a specific position and reasonably high rank, Lady Luck can't be quite as consistently ill-mannered.  
  
In any case, Lady Luck regardless, they were considering shore leave on The Adventure Planet.  
  
"This looks useful, a list of suggested activities," Gray said, and clicked in. "Number one: skydiving."  
  
"No!" Jones said quickly. "I have acrophobia."  
  
"Really?" Smith said. "Me too!"  
  
"You too what?" Simmons asked, confused.  
  
"We both have fear of heights," Jones explained.  
  
"Oh."  
  
"So skydiving is out," Gray said, and moved on to the second item. "Number Two: Bungee Jump.never mind." He read on. "How about this? Skiing."  
  
"Definitely not," Simmons shivered. "I went skiing once. Never again."  
  
"What happened?" Gray asked curiously.  
  
"I tripped. And rolled. Turned into the biggest snowball you ever saw. It wasn't fun."  
  
"So much for skiing." Gray continued reading. "Here, how about this? An amusement park."  
  
"I hate roller coasters!" they chorused.  
  
Gray blinked. "What are you, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir? The unison was perfect there. And so what if you don't like roller coasters? They have other things at amusement parks. Not many things, but some."  
  
Smith considered. "I did always like the merry-go-round."  
  
Jones shook his head. "Not me. It always made me nauseous."  
  
"The merry-go-round?" Gray said.  
  
"Sure. It went around and around and around and around, and the little horses would go up and down and up and down and up and down, and all the while it's still going around and around and around and-"  
  
Simmons held up a hand. "Stop." The lieutenant was starting to look a trifle green.  
  
"Scratch the merry-go-round," Gray said hastily. "We could.we could go to a restaurant," he came up with finally. "They've got nice restaurants on this planet, lots nicer than replicated food. And you can't get hurt in a restaurant."  
  
The others mulled it over.  
  
"I am getting awfully tired of replicator food," Smith admitted.  
  
"And I haven't been to a really nice restaurant in a while," Smith mused.  
  
"And you can't get hurt in a restaurant," Jones considered.  
  
"Of course not! Avoid raw meat, and it'll be perfectly safe," Gray assured them. "A restaurant it is."  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
There was a considerable crowd gathered in the transporter room that evening at six. The entire bridge crew had elected to come along, and several had indeed brought friends. All told, it was a considerable crowd.  
  
"This looks like it's shaping into a real party," Kirk commented to McCoy.  
  
"Does, doesn't it?" McCoy said, pleased. "How many people do you count? They keep moving and mixing me up-"  
  
"Twelve," Spock volunteered. "Counting ourselves."  
  
"Thanks. Twelve? Good, we'll qualify for a banquet room. I found a really nice restaurant. The Magic Flute."  
  
"Is that an expensive place?" Kirk asked suspiciously.  
  
"Only a little," McCoy protested.  
  
"Bones."  
  
"The Doctor is within his rights," Spock pointed out.  
  
"Thank you, Spock. See, Jim? I'm still within." McCoy stopped. Frowned. "You're agreeing with me again, aren't you?"  
  
"Your statement was correct," Spock said. "Therefore, it is only logical to agree."  
  
"That's it. We're beaming down before you find a clever way to agree your way out of this." McCoy strode off through the milling people, organizing for beam-down.  
  
"Spock." Kirk said slowly, "tell me honestly.did that make any sense at all to you?"  
  
"No, Captain."  
  
"Good. It must be him, not me."  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
At six-thirty, there were more people in the transporter room. Only four though.  
  
"Everyone set to beam down?" Gray asked.  
  
There were nods of consent.  
  
"So what restaurant are we going to anyway?" Smith asked as they took their places on the transporter pads.  
  
"I found a really nice restaurant. A little expensive, but it looks good," Gray answered. "It's called The Magic Flute."  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
And at The Magic Flute, the bridge crew (and friends) was having an excellent time. The food was very good (McCoy ordered lobster, got another Look from Kirk, and another agreement from Spock), the service was commendable, and the evening continued pleasantly and uneventfully until the dessert was served. At which point they heard a commotion in the main room.  
  
"What's all that noise?" Kirk asked.  
  
"Did someone just yell 'Fire?'" McCoy asked.  
  
Sulu pushed aside the curtains along one side of the banquet room, and leaned over the half-wall, looking out into the main dining room. "You're not going to believe this. A bunch of guys panicked when they brought out some flaming dish."  
  
"Oh no," Kirk said, laughing.  
  
"Wait," Sulu cautioned. "It gets worse. They're in Starfleet uniforms."  
  
"Oh no," Kirk repeated. He wasn't laughing. "And there's only a few ships in this system, so."  
  
"Wait. It gets worse," Sulu said again.  
  
"Please tell me those are not members of my crew. Please tell me I have never seen those people before. Please tell me those are complete strangers out there."  
  
McCoy poked Spock in the shoulder. "I'll bet you another dinner that Jones and Simmons are mixed up in this."  
  
"No, thank you."  
  
"Let's see." Sulu said. "There's Smith."  
  
McCoy nodded. "Not a surprise."  
  
"And I think that's Gray."  
  
"Wait for it."  
  
"Looks like Jones."  
  
"I knew it."  
  
"And there's Simmons."  
  
McCoy poked Spock again. "What'd I tell you?"  
  
"I didn't argue," Spock pointed out.  
  
"Oh yeah." McCoy frowned. "Rats."  
  
Meanwhile, Sulu was keeping up a running commentary. "They're still shrieking about fires.oops, Simmons' sleeve just caught on fire. And Jones just poured a pitcher of ice water over his head. And missed the sleeve."  
  
Kirk's elbows were on the table, his head in his hands. "Oh no."  
  
"And now Simmons is hopping around.he just tripped over Gray's chair. While Gray was in it."  
  
"Is his sleeve still on fire?" McCoy asked, mildly concerned.  
  
"No, he doused it in some soup a second ago. Smith's trying to hide under the table, and Gray's still on the floor. I think he's laughing.oops."  
  
"What now?" Scotty asked.  
  
"Jones tried to put out the dish that's on fire. He put out the waiter instead. And the dish fell and set fire to the tablecloth."  
  
"Oh no," Kirk moaned.  
  
Spock signaled a waiter who was rushing past en route to the commotion. "Check, please."  
  
"Here comes a horde of waiters," Sulu continued. "The fire's spreading across the tablecloth. Smith's grabbing the fire extinguisher.he has horrible aim, he just extinguished Gray."  
  
A sudden clanging sound, not unreminiscent of the red alert signal, filled the air.  
  
Kirk started out of his chair on instinct. "What's that?"  
  
"Someone pulled the fire alarm," Sulu reported.  
  
Kirk dropped back into his chair. "Oh no."  
  
Spock examined the bill that had been brought him. "A bit high, but not unreasonable. How much tip is considered customary?"  
  
"Fifteen percent, I think. So that would be." McCoy paused. "Wait a minute. Why am I trying to calculate this?"  
  
"I do not know," Spock said, making note of the necessary tip.  
  
"Does anyone else hear sirens?" Sulu asked. "That's probably the firefighters. Now things'll really get hectic!"  
  
Kirk stood up. "That does it. Let's get out of here before we get mixed up in this. Where's the bill?"  
  
"Already paid, Captain," Spock informed him.  
  
"Good. Can we make it out the front door without being spotted?"  
  
"No, there's a mass exodus rushing out the doorway. Did I mention Smith is still wildly spraying the fire extinguisher around?" Sulu added.  
  
"Is there a back door out of this place?" Kirk asked.  
  
"Over there, Keptin," Chekov said.  
  
"We're just going to walk out and leave our security guards behind?" McCoy asked.  
  
"They're grown men, they can take care of themselves." Kirk paused, considering. "Well, actually they can't, but they should be able to. And besides, I discovered a long time ago that when security guards run amok, the only reasonable option is to get out of the way, and fast. So let's go."  
  
* * * It was a group of sodden, sooty security guards sitting in Sickbay an hour later. It had taken a while, but they'd finally made it out of the restaurant and back to the ship. Upon which the night nurse, on orders from Dr. McCoy, had dragged them into sickbay. Just to make sure no one was burned or anyone.  
  
No one was. But even so, they were in a sorry state. Gray still had bits of foam clinging to his hair and shirt, but was by far in the best of spirits, breaking into sporadic laughter every so often. Simmons' deluge by the ice water had not agreed with the lieutenant, and he had, against all laws of the germ theory of disease, developed a raging cold in less than an hour. He was sitting on a biobed, blanket draped across his shoulders, sneezing. Smith's hair had somehow caught fire, and while there was no especial damage, it did make for a strange hairstyle. Jones, surprisingly, was in the best condition, though smoke-stained and mortified.  
  
Denise surveyed the group, hands on her hips. "You did it again, didn't you?"  
  
"Brother, did we!" Gray laughed. He was the only one.  
  
Denise surveyed them again. "And.what exactly did you do?"  
  
An answer was not forth coming.  
  
Simmons, for one, was engaged in scowling at Gray. "Let's go to a restaurant, he says. You can't get hurt in a restaurant, he says. That'll be safe, he says." He probably would have gone on, but had to stop to sneeze.  
  
"Now, how was I suppose to know they'd bring out flaming quail?" Gray asked, grinning.  
  
"Is that what it was?" Smith shivered. "Quail are too little and cute to eat. Especially flaming."  
  
"Someone tell me what happened." Denise appealed to Jones. "Sam, tell me what happened."  
  
Jones shrugged. "We tried to put out a fire in a restaurant."  
  
"Well, that sounds good."  
  
"Yeah," Jones said glumly. "Except that there wasn't any fire. Just some burning bird-dish."  
  
"Oh," Denise said, stifling a giggle.  
  
"I was surprised they didn't take us all into custody," Gray said. "Could've accused us of public insobriety, from the spectacle we made."  
  
"The Captain would've just loved that," Smith groaned.  
  
"Guess they were just glad to get rid of us," Gray continued. "In fact, we got banned."  
  
"From the restaurant?" Denise asked.  
  
"No. From the planet."  
  
"Aw, who needs 'The Adventure Planet' anyway?" Simmons grumbled. "Not me, that's for sure. Give me 'The Nice, Safe, Fun Planet' any day," he concluded, punctuating his final statement with a violent sneeze.  
  
-------//------- And in reply (anyone who doesn't care to read these things, feel free to jump to the "Review" button):  
  
Pallee: Red Dwarf.not familiar with this. I do like the Marx Bros.' Duck Soup though. Glad you enjoyed.  
  
A.M.: Yeah, the pancakes were strange. But you can't pin that one on me. That's a product of the twisted imagination of either Blynneda or Taskemus, I'm not entirely sure which.  
  
Keridwen: I was beginning to think you died. Or something. Glad to see you're back. : )  
  
PearlGirl: As far as I know, the exact Risks speech was never in an episode.although I seem to vaguely recall hearing it was in one, I don't know which. I'd love to say I invented it, but I got it off a special/TV spoof once.  
  
Alania: Funny you should suggest an April Fool's story, probably between the time I posted and the story came up. And yes indeed, it was weird. But so was that link. Dr. Seuss and Star Trek. Wild.  
  
Silverfang: Sorry it takes a while.been busy. But here it is.er, was. Hopefully they'll start coming faster as the school year winds down.  
  
Blynneda: Good, you got it that I was incorporating other people's jokes! Ack, I did mess up it's/its. And I hate it when other people do that. You're reading too much into my notes. School is at the end because I started to just list stories, and figured I'd throw in school too because it does take up most of my time. Hence it was the last one typed. Don't ask how. That's rationalizing. No rationalizing on that one, it's deliberately, intentionally, and wildly irrational. I (disturbingly) recognize the Gilligan you brought up, and actually I meant a different one, though it was similar. A chimp? Um, sure.  
  
Whatshername: Just out of curiosity, do you even remember giving me permission to use Gray and Simmons for this? That was, what, a month ago? I wrote two other chapters between then and this one anyway.  
  
Okay, I'm finally done. Go review. Please. 


	38. Easter Aboard the Enterprise

Disclaimer: Someday I will be a famous and wealthy author.  At which time I will rebuild Vukovar, own a silver convertible, and buy Star Trek.  Until then: Paramount.

Couldn't resist an Easter chapter.  So here it is.  Notes at the end.

Chapter Thirty-Eight:

Easter Aboard the _Enterprise_

_One Saturday morning, in a random corridor of the Enterprise_:

"Hey Jim!" McCoy called.  "Do you realize what tomorrow is?"  And then he waited.

Kirk didn't answer.

McCoy kept waiting.

Kirk continued not answering.

McCoy got impatient.  "Well?" he prompted.

"I am thinking," Kirk said slowly.  "Thinking very carefully.  I am trying to decide."

"About?"

"Which would be less dangerous.  To ask.  Or not to ask."

"Oh.  That.  Yes."  McCoy nodded sagely.  "I see.  So.  What have you decided?"

"I'm considering a third option."

"Which is?" McCoy asked blankly.

"Abandon ship," Kirk said with absolute seriousness.

McCoy took a certain amount of exception to that.  "Aw, come on.  I'm not _that_ bad!"

Kirk looked at him.  "Okay.  Prove it.  Tell me what tomorrow is."

McCoy hesitated.  "How about I give you a really good hint instead?" he suggested.  "Eggs, and rabbits!"

The look had turned into a Look.  "One more word, and I'm leaving.  So the next word had _better_ be what tomorrow is."

McCoy considered, and decided he'd better relent.  "Easter."

"Easter?"

McCoy nodded.  "Easter."

"Easter."

McCoy nodded again.  "Easter."

Kirk had had enough.  "Are you _going_ somewhere with this?"

"Oh.  Right.  Well, I was thinking we should do something."

"Is this anything like your plans for Thanksgiving?" Kirk asked suspiciously.

"Pretty much identical.  Different food though, have to keep up with the changing seasons."

"Identical to Thanksgiving?"  Kirk did not seem pleased.

"Thanksgiving came off pretty good."  McCoy thought about it.  "After one or two minor problems."

"That _I_ got stuck with."

"But it was worth it in the end.  Anyway, nothing like that will happen this time.  I promise."

"It just better not."

Which McCoy took to mean that he had permission (if slightly reluctant) to proceed.  So he did.  With a vengeance.

*  *  *

_Saturday afternoon, in Rec Room ___ (fill in number less than twelve):_

"Aw come on, Spock!"

Spock shook his head.  "No thank you, Doctor."

"Be a sport!"

Spock's eyebrow quirked.  "A 'sport?'"

"A nice guy," McCoy amended.

"I do not believe this is a necessary requirement to being a 'sport.'"

Kirk walked in on that line.  He blinked.  "Correct me if I'm wrong, but did Spock just use the word 'sport?'"

"The Doctor does not think I am being one," Spock said gravely.

"Oh," Kirk said, sitting down.  "So how exactly are you not being a sport?"

McCoy took it upon himself to answer that one.  "He's refusing to wear furry pink bunny ears!"

A half-hour later, Kirk was still laughing at the mere thought.

*  *  *

_Sunday Morning, in the Mess Hall_:

As occurred at Thanksgiving, shopping was planned to occur at a planet they were in orbit around.  And as at Thanksgiving, the person who was supposed to shop didn't.  Which led to a slight complication.  As McCoy was attempting to explain to Spock and Kirk when they dropped by the Mess Hall.

"There's, ah, been a slight complication," McCoy said, shifting uncomfortably.

"What sort of complication?" Kirk asked suspiciously.

Explanation followed, with much pausing, and a clear indication that McCoy really didn't want to tell this story.  "Well, see, I was going to buy the food from the planet early this morning, but I had a last minute surgery, so…well, Jones was hanging around in Sickbay, he had some kind of accident with a pineapple, and I figured, hell, why not…"

Kirk blinked.  "You didn't."

McCoy nodded unhappily.  "I did.  I sent Jones for the food.  And he got a little confused, I was explaining fast, and…well, Jim, you know how Jones is, and…"

"He didn't."

McCoy nodded unhappily.  "He did."

Spock, meanwhile, had been noting an odd noise from behind a nearby supply closet door.  He walked over to investigate.  McCoy noticed.

"Ah, Spock, I wouldn't open that door…" McCoy warned, a trifle too late.

The door opened.  And Spock was knocked flat onto his back by a very large, very fast, very _alive_ pig.  The pig oinked once, looked at Spock, oinked again, and set off down the length of the Mess Hall.

Spock sat up, utterly unruffled.  "Remarkable."

Kirk wasn't taking it as well.  He dropped into a chair at the nearest table, looking stricken.  "No.  I did not just see what I'm pretty sure I just saw.  A large pink pig did not just knock over my science officer.  I may be deathly ill and hallucinating, but there is no pig on my ship.  None."

The pig, by now, had reached the end of the Hall, and come back.  He paused next to Kirk, looked at him, oinked, and continued running.  Only a quick movement kept McCoy on his feet.

"Like I said…Jones got a little mixed up…" McCoy said, looking pretty much anywhere but at Kirk.

"How mixed up?" Kirk asked, a dangerous edge in his voice.

"Well, ah, I don't know how exactly you can mix up _dinner_ and _farm_, but…"  He paused, noticing that Spock had gotten to his feet and moved to the door next to the one the pig had been behind.  "Uh, Spock, I wouldn't open that closet either."

Too late.  The door opened.  Spock somehow lost his balance amidst a dozen or so hopping white rabbits and went down again.  The rabbits set off in pursuit of the pig, who fled, oinking, in front of them, apparently in terror.

Spock sat up, still unruffled.  "Most remarkable."

Kirk was shaking his head.  "Oh no.  No, no, no.  There may be a pig running around, but there are no rabbits.  Nope.  No rabbits are hopping around."

The pig, at this moment, ran underneath the long table Kirk was sitting at.  The rabbits jumped on top of the table and hopped in pursuit.  Eleven white rabbits with streaming pink ears bounced past Kirk.  One, in an effort to outdistance the pack, used the top of Kirk's head as a slight detour.

McCoy was trying to keep from laughing—hey, it's not every day a bunny hops on Jim, or Spock gets knocked over by a pig—and simultaneously explain to Kirk why these creatures were here, and why there was really no reason to get kill anyone over it.

"I guess I must have mentioned rabbits.  You know, the Easter Bunny, and all?  Well, Jones got a little mixed up."

"A _little_?  You call this a _little_?!"  Kirk threw up his hands.  "Heaven help us if he ever gets _really_ mixed up!"  And then he noticed.  McCoy still had the same expression.  That expression of 'how am I going to keep Jim from finding out ______, because he'll kill me when he _does_ find out.'  And then he realized.  There was a third door.  "There aren't any other animals, are there?" he asked apprehensively.  "_Are there_?"

"Ah, well…"

Spock decided that the fastest way to resolve the issue was to simply open the last door.  So he did, ignoring McCoy's "I wouldn't open that one either…"

The door opened.  And out flew a chicken.  Spock went down for the third time.  Squawking madly, he—the chicken, not Spock—flew across the Mess Hall, leaving feathers in his wake.  Several hens waddled out at a more decorous pace, walked over Spock, and wandered around the Mess Hall, clucking to each other.  Probably about these strange, two-legged, featherless creatures.

Spock sat up, shedding a few feathers, but remaining unruffled to the last.  "_Most_ remarkable."

"No.  Definitely not.  No chickens.  A pig is one thing.  Rabbits are something else.  But chickens?  No."

McCoy shrugged.  "You know.  Eggs."

It was at this ill-timed moment that Jones, unfortunately for him, walked in.  "Dr. McCoy, I found a better place to hide—"  Who exactly was in the room registered on him.  He froze.  "Oh.  Captain.  Hello.  Happy Easter.  I'll just be going…"  He turned to make a fast exit, but it wasn't fast enough.

"Hold it!"  Kirk stood up, resisted the urge to kick a nearby chicken, and approached the unhappy-looking Ensign.  "I understand there was a slight misunderstanding.  That you got a _little_ mixed-up.  Let me be perfectly clear.  _I want these animals off my ship._  This is a starship, not a barnyard!"

Jones nodded vigorously.  "Yes, sir, sorry, sir."

The pig had grown tired from its running, and was standing nearby, oinking quietly too itself.  Kirk nudged it towards Jones with a foot.  "Do something with this pig!"

Jones continued nodding.  "Yes, sir, I'll take care of Wilbur, sir."

Kirk paused in his rant.  He shook his head.  "No.  The pig does not have a name.  No."

"I was always fond of _Charlotte's Web_ as a child…"  Jones trailed off.  "No, sir.  No name."

"_You_ take care of the pig!"  

Jones nodded.  "Yes, sir."

Kirk scooped up a couple of rabbits, and shoved them at McCoy.  "And _you_ take care of the rabbits!"

McCoy nodded, trying to deal with the squirming armful of rabbit.  "Yes, sir."  When Kirk got like this, even McCoy found it wise to go with 'sir' rather than 'Jim.'

"And _you_…"  Kirk realized the only one left was Spock.  "And you are completely uninvolved, so I can't throw chickens at you."  He seemed vaguely disappointed.

Spock nodded.  "Thank you for taking that into consideration, Captain."

"Sure, no problem.  Ensign, was anyone else involved in this…_fiasco_?"

"Well, uh, Smith helped me shop…"

"Good.  Find Smith, and get him here.  I need to throw chickens at someone, and quickly!"

Jones nodded vigorously.  "Yes, _sir_!"  He turned, rushed towards the door, tripped over the pig, and fell with a yelp.

McCoy laughed.  Kirk groaned.  Spock remained, naturally, utterly unruffled.

*  *  *

_Sunday Afternoon_:

Three o'clock, and the party was in full swing.  They ate replicated ham, but no one complained.  Not much anyway.  Spock, to McCoy intense irritation, had dropped by, took a dish of scalloped potatoes, and retreated, insisting that someone had to be on the bridge.  Which wasn't entirely unreasonable, as must of the crew seemed to be present.  And most seemed to be enjoying themselves thoroughly.  Even Kirk, although he retained a certain amount of concern regarding their early morning visitors.

"You got rid of the pig?  And the chickens?  And the rabbits?"  Kirk was determined to confirm this.

McCoy nodded.  "Oh yeah.  Totally taken care of."

"So they're completely gone."

McCoy hesitated a split-second, then nodded again.  "Yeah.  Definitely.  Gone."

But Kirk was not to be fooled.  "And what aren't you telling me?"

McCoy hedged.  "Well they aren't…_completely_ gone, _exactly_."

"_Bones_…"

"Which _doesn't_ mean they aren't completely taken care of!" McCoy said hastily.  "We couldn't get 'em back to the planet in time, but we got 'em out of the way anyway.  We've got 'em all locked in an empty crew quarters."

"And they _aren't_ going to get out, _are_ they?"

"Of course not," McCoy promised.  "In fact, I sent Jones to check on them not ten minutes ago."

"Okay.  Good."

For a moment, all was peaceful.  And then.  A noise at the door.

McCoy frowned.  "Did you just hear—"

"No," Kirk said firmly.  "I didn't hear an oinking at the door, and neither did you."

"I don't know, Jim, I think—"

"_No_."

But denial only worked as long as the door stayed shut, which it didn't for long.  Within two minutes someone tried to go out.  He didn't get out, but one pig, six chickens, and twelve rabbits got in.

"Maybe…there's a _slight_ possibility they could get out," McCoy admitted.

"_Slight_?"

The pig was running wild, the chickens were squawking, and people were shouting.  The rabbits, at least, were rapidly finding owners.

McCoy was attempting to puzzle the matter out.  "I'm guessing the pig knocked over Jones, and then came here because this is where it was before."

"And the rabbits and the chickens just came along for _kicks_, I suppose?" Kirk said sharply.

McCoy shrugged.  "I suppose."

At that moment, a wild-eyed Ensign Jones rushed in.  "Doctor!  The pig got out! The pig—"  He looked around.  "Oh.  Um.  I'll just, uh, catch the pig.  I guess."

The pig wasn't happy about being caught though, which led to a wild chase through the Mess Hall, which wound up involving most of the partygoers.  Kirk and McCoy remained seated somewhere in the middle of it all, McCoy looked apprehensively at the disturbingly calm Kirk.

"At least our parties are never dull," McCoy suggested.

"I'm trying, trying very hard, to look on the bright side," Kirk said slowly.

"Oh.  Good idea, that," McCoy said, nodding.  "Bright sides are always a good thing.  Um…what _is_ the bright side?"

"Well, despite having names like Kirk and McCoy, plus a Scottish engineer, we still didn't even think about celebrating St. Patrick's Day."

"This is the bright side?"

"You know what they eat on St. Patrick's Day, don't you?"

"Sure, corned beef and cabbage."

Kirk nodded.  "Right.  And knowing Jones, he'd have found _some_ way to bring back a cow!"

Heehee, that was fun.  Weird, but fun.

Emp: Yeah, I figured it would be just like Spock to remain utterly calm while the restaurant dissolves in chaos around him. : )

Blynneda: Well, I _would_ read the 101011011 etc., except the website won't let me copy/paste, and I'm not even going to try to retype 1001110011 etc.  I don't know what would have happened if Spock had won the bet…well, McCoy would've had fits, but aside from that.  And the two of them trying to eat dinner without anyone else?  That would be interesting.  I'm betting McCoy would walk out before dessert.  Maybe before salad.

Taskemus: No ensigns?  But then characters we actually care about would have to get hurt!  (Ouch.  That sounded so callous.  I apologize.)  I believe red-shirts serve a necessary function in adding a sense of danger, excitement and risk, without requiring main characters to be killed/injured.  And you can't beat them for slightly morbid comic relief.

Alania: Yep, even agreeing Spock bugs McCoy, and don't think it's not deliberate!

PearlGirl: Severe funnyness…I don't think that's a word but I like it.

Ms. Vegeta Black: I don't know what would have happened if the waiters found out, and I don't think Kirk wanted to know either.

Whatsyername: Yeah, poor everyone.  Including (aHEM) poor Simmons who is STILL in dire straits…

Pallee: People spend a surprising amount of time crawling around in vents…did that in Smallville too.

Silverfang: From the point of view of Surak…I may have to do that sometime.

Wow, that was long.  Very cool.  Happy Easter everyone!  And if you don't celebrate Easter, Happy Weekend anyway!  And if you live in New Zealand and it's already Monday, Happy Spring Break!  (I think I've covered everyone.  I'll go.  Leave a review please.)


	39. Calendars and Problems

Disclaimer: Star Trek is Paramount's.  Not mine.  But you knew that.

Sorry it's been awhile…but here it is finally.  And so long as you're reading my author's note (I assume you are) and I therefore have your attention, might I recommend you investigate "The Stars Trek Through Xanth"?  I think you would all enjoy it…but anyway, here's Chapter Thirty-Nine.

Chapter Thirty-Nine:

Calendars and…Problems

Somewhere aboard the _Enterprise_:

"Hey Bones!" Kirk called down the corridor, "Do you realize what today is?" [A/N: Today being May 22nd, since that's when I'm writing this and it might even be when I post it.]

McCoy blinked.  "Um…no.  Can't say that I do," he said warily.

"Are you sure?" Kirk persisted.  "Maybe you should _guess_."

"That's okay, Jim, maybe you should tell me."

Kirk shrugged elaborately.  "If you insist.  Today's _National Maritime Day_."

"Gee…"

"Also, it's _UN International Day for Biological Diversity_.  Have you ever noticed how diverse we are around here?"

"Maybe in passing…"

"Wait, the best is yet to come," Kirk promised.  "In Canada it's _Immigrant's Day_, in Yemen it's _National Day_, and in Sri Lanka it's _National Heroes Day_.  I don't know what any of them are about particularly, but nevertheless it's fascinating to know."

"Fascinating," McCoy said, his tone of voice somehow failing to convey any fascination.

"And also, it's Lawrence Olivier's birthday," Kirk continued.

"That's wonderful to know.  Is that all?"

"Yes, for today.  But there's two really good ones tomorrow."  Kirk grinned.  "Tomorrow is _Morning Radio Wise Guy Day_, and…best of all…_World Turtle Day_."

McCoy stared at him.  "World…_Turtle_…Day."

"Exactly."

There was silence for a moment.  "Let me guess," McCoy said finally.  "You bought a calendar, and now you're out for revenge."

"Something like that," Kirk agreed.

"Well.  I'll admit the fourth Thursday business was a little over the top, but let's not belabor the point—"

"Do you really want me to tell you that this is _National Dog Bite Prevention Week_?" Kirk asked pleasantly.

McCoy looked pained.  "And the pancakes.  They were a bit much.  But there's no reason we can't move on."

"All right," Kirk agreed.  "But I'm going to be ready for you for the rest of the year, right up until New Year's, when you're bound to want to sacrifice a goat."

"Why in the galaxy would I want to sacrifice a _goat_?"

"Isn't that what people do on New Year's?"

"Well, maybe.  But where would we get a goat?"

"That would be the easy part.  Just send Jones for goat cheese, and see what happens."

"You're terrible, you know that?"

"Yeah," Kirk agreed.  "Anyway, I'm supposed to be going to the bridge right now."

"I'll go with you.  I haven't bugged Spock yet today."

"Bones!"

"What?" McCoy said innocently.

Kirk shook his head, smiling, but didn't answer.  They continued down the corridor a ways, and then they encountered the actual plot of this chapter.  Kirk paused, frowning.

"Do you hear something?" he asked.

"Hear something?"

"Yeah.  A faint noise."

McCoy concentrated.  "A sort of…mewling sound?"

"Yeah, that's it."

"And not really one solid sound, but many small ones together?" 

"Right, right."

"Kind of high-pitched?"

"Exactly.  Hear it?"

McCoy shook his head.  "Sorry, Jim.  Don't hear a thing."  Kirk gave him a look.  "Well, maybe I _do_ hear _something_," McCoy relented.

Kirk stepped close to the wall.  "I think it's from back here.  Now how can we find out what…"  He looked down the corridor.  Ten feet away was the hatch of a Jeffries Tube.  "There."

Kirk walked down the corridor.  "Perfect.  There's got to be a way from here to over there from inside this tube.  Help me get it open."

A spark of mischief stirred in McCoy.  He shook his head.  "Sorry, Jim, but I can't let you do that."

Kirk blinked.  "What?" he said, in rather the tone he would have used had McCoy suddenly announced he was a Romulan spy.

McCoy held back a grin, and managed to look reasonably solemn.  "I'm strictly forbidden from allowing you to climb into any Jeffries tubes, remember?"

Kirk frowned.  "No."

"After you went climbing around in there with Jones and Simmons," McCoy explained patiently.  "You distinctly told me to never, under any circumstances, let you go into any Jeffries Tubes ever again.  And if you ever tried to I was to tie you up, shoot you, do _something_ to stop you."

"It's all coming back to me," Kirk said ruefully.  He was half-amused in spite of himself.  "How about if I just look, but don't climb?"

"Fair enough," McCoy agreed.  "Here, let me give you a hand with that hatch."

"No, I think I've got it…" Kirk gave a final wrench to the hatch positioned slightly above his head, and it opened up.

And out plummeted a flood of giant brown balls of fur.  They poured out in a great wave over Kirk's head, and within moments he was shoulder-deep in them.

"Why," Kirk asked plaintively, "didn't I see this coming?"

McCoy, to his credit, tried hard not to laugh.  He managed tolerably well, snickered only twice, regained full composure, and then picked up a tribble that had rolled near his feet.  He stroked it absently, noticing that it was by far the largest tribble he'd ever seen.  And he'd seen a lot, some large, some small.  This one was giant, and heavy.  Probably twenty pounds or so.  But then, all the tribbles were that big, at least.

Kirk, meanwhile, stood, buried in the tribbles, gazing meditatively and unhappily into space.  The odd tribble rolled out every few moments and plopped down around him.  Kirk ignored them.

"We need a maintenance crew," Kirk said finally.

"We do," McCoy agreed, idly smoothing the tribble's fur.

"We should have Engineering look into the other Jeffries Tubes," Kirk continued in monotone.

"We should," McCoy agreed, noting that this tribble's purr was louder in proportion to its larger size.

"A general alert may be necessary," Kirk went on.

"Might be," McCoy agreed, wondering if the tribble's trill was also louder.  No Klingons around to allow for experimentation.

"We should go to the bridge," Kirk concluded.

"We should," McCoy agreed, and started down the corridor.  After six steps he realized Kirk wasn't following.  He turned back.  Kirk hadn't moved.  "Aren't you coming?"

Kirk's face twisted.  "I can't."

McCoy blinked.  "You what?"

Kirk pushed futilely at a tribble or two.  "These things are _heavy_.  And there's hundreds of _thousands_ of them.  I can't get out." 

McCoy tried not to laugh.  He didn't succeed quite so well this time.

Kirk glared into space.  "It isn't funny, Bones."

"Of course not," McCoy agreed, doubled over the tribble with laughter.

"It isn't at all funny."

"No," McCoy gasped, catching his breath.  With a supreme effort, the laugh lessened into a grin.  "What do you suggest I do?" he asked politely.

Kirk gave him a Look.

"I suppose I could start pulling tribbles away."  McCoy strolled around the pile, gazing at it speculatively.  "Or I could go find help."  He glanced up and down the empty corridor.  "Or I could sell tickets."

Kirk was not pleased.  "Great.  I've got a first officer who thinks he's a computer, and a doctor who thinks he's a comedian."

"You poor, _poor_ man," McCoy said sympathetically.

"Bones, get me _out of here_," Kirk appealed.

McCoy shook his head.  "Not until you solemnly promise to turn up on time for your next medical exam."

"That's blackmail!"

"Yes," McCoy agreed, patting the tribble.

"I refuse!"

McCoy shrugged.  "Suit yourself.  How much do you suggest selling each ticket for?"

Kirk decided he'd been a bit hasty.  He considered the matter carefully.  "I could make it an order."

"I'd ignore it," McCoy said comfortably.

"I could court-martial you," Kirk suggested.

"Theoretically," McCoy agreed, with all the unconcern of a man who probably deserved several court-martials and would never be brought to trial on any of them.

"I could though."

"Except that you'd have to get out of the tribbles first."

"Got me there," Kirk admitted.

"I don't see that you have many options, myself."

Kirk sighed.  "You _know_ this is blackmail, right?"

"Of course," McCoy said cheerfully.

"All right."  Kirk surrendered.  "I promise."

"Solemnly?"

Kirk nodded grimly.  "Solemnly."

"Now, was that really so difficult?" McCoy asked.

Kirk glared at him.

McCoy shrugged, set down the tribble, and went to work digging Kirk out.  Between the two of them it didn't take too long.

"Now what?" McCoy asked.

"Now we go to the bridge.  And sound red alert."

*  *  *

They eventually wound up in the briefing room.  Kirk, Spock, and McCoy did, that it.  The rest of the crew was out scouring the ship for more tribbles.

Kirk was pacing back and forth, and hoping that that one batch of giant tribbles that had fallen on him was the _only_ one.

Such was not the case.

Spock was sitting at one end of the table, and checking the reports that were filtering in from all parts of the ship.  He was not pleased with what they had to say.

"Captain, I believe this problem may be greater than originally supposed."

Kirk groaned.  "I don't want to know."

Spock nodded, and continued checking reports.  Kirk went on pacing.  This lasted for roughly a minute.

Then Kirk, tired of waiting, said, "Well?"

Spock glanced at him.  "Yes?"

"Aren't you going to tell me?"

"You clearly stated that you did not wish to know—"

"I meant—oh forget it!"  Kirk glared at McCoy, who was looking far too amused for the circumstances, and then turned back to Spock.  "Give it to me straight.  Tell me how many tribbles we have running loose."

"Tribbles are not anatomically designed to allow for running."

Kirk was having a difficult day.  It had been going downhill ever since _National Turtle Day_.  He turned a Look on Spock, who continued.

"The trouble involving tribbles seems to be growing exponentially.  The problem, however, is _not_ the number."

"When has the trouble with tribbles been anything _but_ their number?" McCoy demanded.  "They're totally harmless _except_ in amount."

"Not any more," Spock said gravely.  "Kagon's genetic engineering seems to have had quite fascinating effects.

"All right," Kirk said, resigned.  "Let's hear it."

"The Mess Hall and the bridge are reporting giant tribbles."

"Well sure.  So what?" McCoy asked.

"Rec Room Three, however, is reporting flying tribbles."

"_Flying_ tribbles?"  Kirk had trouble adjusting to the idea.

"Tribbles with wings," McCoy murmured.

"Actually, they seem to be defying gravity without the aid of wings," Spock interjected.

"Well _that_ makes me feel better," McCoy snapped.  Spock did not bother asking why.

"Security has a different report.  They are reporting fanged tribbles."

"_Fanged_ tribbles?!"  Kirk dropped into a chair.  "That's too much, _way_ too much."

"Engineering is reporting in as well."

"Wait, don't tell me.  Tribbles with legs?" McCoy suggested.

"Fluorescent tribbles," Spock deadpanned.

Kirk stifled a groan.  McCoy stifled a grin.

Spock continues.  "The arboretum is reporting finding tribbles in their pond."

"Swimming tribbles," Kirk murmured dazedly.

"They seem to have fins and gills."

"_Swimming_ tribbles…"

"Are there any _more_?" McCoy demanded.

"Only one.  A certain Ensign Jones reports tripping over an invisible tribble.  I believe there are excellent odds that that can be put down to mere paranoia, however."

There was silence for a moment.

Finally: "How did this happen?" Kirk asked slowly.

"I have a theory," Spock said immediately.

"Of _course_ you do," McCoy said sourly.

"I suspect that the effect of the Klingons' genetic engineering has been greater even than they planned, perhaps due to the tribbles natural prolific tendencies.  They most likely began with one large tribble.  It was above Mr. Scott's weight limit, and so was not picked up.  As the tribbles bred, they spread throughout the ship.  The genetic engineering, however, was still at play, and soon different colonies of tribbles had evolved with impressive rapidity."

"And so we're left with a lot of mutant tribbles," McCoy concluded.  "Delightful."

"That is _not_ the word I would use," Kirk snapped.

"So now what?" McCoy asked.

Kirk shrugged.  "Beats me."

McCoy blinked at him. "_That's_ your answer?  What kind of answer is _that_?

"That's the answer I can afford to give when the writer's planning to end the chapter in two lines.  Heightens the drama and gives her time to figure out what to do with fluorescent tribbles now that she has them."

This chapter almost didn't happen.  I wrote the first half, write up until Kirk solemnly promised, and then got stuck.  I had to go back and change the holidays at the beginning, they were originally for April 25th.  That's how long I got stuck for.  So I was figuring I'd scrap the whole thing.  And then in a conversation with my friends last week, the phrase "fluorescent tribbles" came up (I'm not sure how, they're non-Trekkies).  And I had to finish the chapter just so I could use that one phrase. : )

Let's see…does anyone even remember what they wrote?  I doubt it.  Well, I'll be brief.  Feel free to skip to the Review button.

PearlGirl: Hope you're happy!  Kirk's the proud owner of a calendar now. : )

Alania: I don't know why I enjoy animals on the Enterprise…but I do.

Silverfang: The Queen of Humor?  I'm flattered.

Unconventional Conversationalist (wow, that's a mouthful): Not only can I not identify that song, I have never heard of it…sorry.  I dunno about Rocky Horror Fest, but going to the movies would be amusing.

Ms. Vegeta Black: Jones mixes everything up.  That's why he's Jones.  : )

Blynneda: I know St. Patrick's Day is Irish.  I'm Irish.  Not that you'd have any way of knowing that, as the only name you all know me by is Barsoomian.  Is the point here that Kirk and McCoy are Scottish names?  Because they sound kind of Irish to me.  And it is the same area of the world.  And I just wanted the joke anyway.  And in the other chapter, McCoy only admitted to being wrong because he was in the right just then, and gloating.

Psyche: Have I mentioned that you finally threw me off with the name change?  I was actually, literally thinking, "Who's Psyche, I should look her up."  And…it was you.  You are far too confusing.

Emp: Y'know, I don't think you ever told me about the end of the school year story.

Grace: What else would you name a pig?

A.M.: Yeah, I don't know why McCoy even bothered with the ears…maybe because the thought made me laugh.

Beedrill: No, I did not know about normalcy and normality…the random things people know astounds me sometimes.  I include myself in that statement.

Taskemus: Once again: I don't know why there's animals.  There just are.  Hmm…Everyone going crazy.  An interesting thought.

Wedge Antilles: Whew…nothing like flooding my inbox.  Thank you though.  I won't even try to respond to everything…One thing though: Kirk can't kill Jones.  I think the rest of my readers would kill him.  Or me.

Saurons Twin Sister: [smacks head] I never e-mailed you.  Yes, you can use Jones, just don't kill him.  Y'know what, I'm gonna go e-mail, hang on…okay, I feel better.

Nenya: Funny, if I ever have a black cat, I'm gonna name him Surak too.


	40. You Think You've Got Tribbles?

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek.  I suppose I own the types of mutant tribbles (except the swimming ones, my friend Krystine suggested them), but I don't own tribbles in general (except one, his name is Trevor and he sits on my bureau; so far, no multiplying).  Do I not own anything else?  Oh yes.  The title.  I stole that from David Gerrold.  Kudos to you if you know who he is.

You no doubt have noticed our new name.  Many thanks to Silverfang for the chicken soup suggestion, and Alania for suggesting that I make it chicken _noodle_ soup.  The different soup does mean something entirely different.  Chicken soup is heartwarming.  Chicken noodle soup causes insanity.

Sorry this chapter took a couple weeks.  But now that it's here it's rather long.  I suppose that's only what one would expect.  I think the words were multiplying as fast as the tribbles.  I'll stop rambling now.

Chapter Forty:

You Think You've Got Tribbles—?

_Now, where were we…?  Oh yes._

"And so we're left with a lot of mutant tribbles," McCoy concluded.  "Delightful."

"That is _not_ the word I would use," Kirk snapped.

"So now what?" McCoy asked.

"We'll scour the entire ship.  We'll round up every tribble one by one, and put them all in the cargo bay.  And _then_," Kirk continued a little wildly, "we'll fly to _Quo'nos_, and we'll beam down every tribble, and I don't care _who_ we offend!"

"I like it," McCoy decided.

"How do you plan to penetrate that far into Klingon territory?"  Spock, of course, had to ask.

"With great difficulty," Kirk said straight-faced.

Spock considered.  "That answer does not address the question."

Kirk waved his hand at that.  "Okay, forget the Quo'nos part.  For now we'll just stuff them all into the cargo bay.  We can find some Klingons to beam them onto later."

"Yes, Captain," Spock said dubiously.

*  *  *

Kirk studied the tribble in his hand.  It was pink.  Vivid, bright, almost shining pink.  "I have never seen a tribble this color before."

"That's nothin'," Scotty said from behind him.  "It's too bright in here to see prop'rly, but they glow in the dark too."

"Figures," Kirk sighed, staring at the mound of fluorescent tribbles Scotty and his engineers had unearthed in Engineering.  Kirk was making the rounds of the ship, checking the progress of the scouring for tribbles.

"On the plus side, they're easy to find," Kyle put in, walking past with an armful of tribbles.

"Well, that's something," Kirk said.  "Maybe we'll get out of this all right after all.  Anyway," he added in a mutter, "things can't get any worse."

The comm unit buzzed, requesting Captain Kirk.

"Why did I say that?" Kirk asked the tribble, who didn't know either.  Heaving a sigh, quite sure he'd somehow jinxed something, Kirk flipped the comm switch.  "Kirk here, what is it?"

"Lt. Cmdr. Gray here, sir.  I've got some trouble in my department."

Kirk sighed.  Of course there was trouble.  When was there not?  "I see.  Specifically?"

"We're having trouble with the tribbles, Captain.  I don't think they like the color red."

Kirk blinked.  "You…don't think they like…_red_?"  Funny, he'd always considered Gray one of their more steady security guards; he _was_ department head…

"There's something they don't like about the security department anyway," Gray said.  "They don't seem to have a problem with anyone else, but as soon as a guy in a red shirt comes in…wham.  They can be surprisingly vicious."

"Vicious _tribbles_…they're little balls of fluff, how can they be…?"

"They're the fanged ones, remember?  And I'm pretty sure they're carnivorous."

Kirk gave up trying to make sense of it.  "I'll be right down.  Kirk out."

*  *  *

Kirk never actually got down to the security department that day.  First he was waylaid near the arboretum. He was walking past just as a botanist came rushing out, stopping short just before bumping into Kirk.

            "Oh!  Captain Kirk!"

Kirk nodded to him, taking a discreet step backwards.  "Ensign."  He studied the man's expression.  It was somewhere between harried and mournful.  Kirk waited for the inevitable.

            "Say, Captain, have you seen Dr. McCoy lately?"

That was definitely not the inevitable.  Kirk mentally shrugged.  "No, not lately.  He's probably in Sickbay."

The ensign nodded.  "Yeah, that's what I was guessing anyway, sir."  He started to walk down the hallway.

Kirk _knew_ that he should just let it go.  His curiosity got the better of him.  "So…why do you need Dr. McCoy anyway?"

The ensign sighed dolefully.  "Well, sir, we have some trouble."

_There_ was the inevitable.  And now Kirk _really_ knew that he should just let it go.  But…he _was_ the Captain, it _was_ his ship…  "What sort of trouble?"

The ensign sighed again.  "We're having trouble with the tribbles."  He brightened suddenly.  "Say, if you've got a minute…"

He really, really, really knew that he should just let it go.  But if the tribbles got out of hand up here, it wouldn't matter if he solved security's problem.  Gray could surely wait a few minutes.  Besides, how hard could it be to solve a botanist's problem?  The tribbles were probably walking on the grass or something.  "I've got about one.  Which way?"

"Over here, sir," the ensign said, much more cheerfully than before.

They walked into the arboretum, a remarkably garden-like place for a starship.  But that _was_ the whole point.

"That's a, ah, interesting breed of tribble you have there, sir," the ensign said by way of small talk en route to his personal trouble with the tribbles.

Kirk blinked, surprised.  He glanced at his hand and realized that he was still carrying the pink tribble.  He'd forgotten about it.  "Oh.  Yeah.  A fluorescent one.  Got it from engineering.  Remind me, what type of tribble have you got in here?"

"The swimming ones.  They're in the pond."

Oh yeah.  The ones with fins.  "Wouldn't think it would be hard to round those up.  Can't you just scoop them out?"

"Yeah, we did at first.  Worked pretty well, they were very complacent.  But then…well, it's right through these trees here, sir, you can see for yourself."

Kirk did see.  And he privately vowed to have a stern talk with McCoy at the nearest opportunity.  The tribbles were anything but complacent now, thrashing around wildly.  The cause of their distress was obvious.  The small black cat who was sitting next to the pond fishing, despite every effort by the crew to get rid of him.

"If we could just get rid of the cat we'd be fine, but I've never seen a more stubborn animal," the ensign said thoughtfully.  "We keep picking him up and moving him and he keeps coming back.  So I was going to go get Dr. McCoy and have him do something."

"Why don't you just take the cat to Sickbay?" Kirk asked.

            The ensign blinked.  "Say, that's a good idea!"

Kirk didn't groan, but it was an effort.  "You know what, _I'll_ take him.  Sickbay's almost on the way to security anyway."  And it would give him a good opportunity to lecture McCoy on why starships, specifically his, weren't good places for cats to go wandering around in.

            The ensign beamed.  "Gee thanks, sir!"

"Don't mention it," Kirk muttered, scooping up the cat.  "_You_ are a problem, you know that?" he told Surak as he walked towards the door.

He almost made it out the door, but was waylaid again two steps from the exit.  A lieutenant in a very wet science-blue shirt came rushing up.  "Captain Kirk!  I'm glad you're here, we've got trouble."

The man looked so relieved to see him that Kirk didn't have the heart to sidestep the issue.  He sighed.  "The tribbles?"

He nodded.  "Yes, sir, this way."

Kirk was led over to a large sink, presumably used for any non-automated gardening the botanists felt the necessity of doing.  "Watch," the lieutenant instructed, and turned on the faucet.

Kirk watched.  "Well.  Water."

"Wait."

It wasn't a long wait.  Two seconds later, mingled with the gushing water, out plopped a tribble.

"I think they're in the plumbing," the lieutenant said unhappily.

Kirk took a moment to absorb this.  "I think you should call Mr. Spock.  Or Mr. Scott," Kirk said slowly.  Either one could probably handle it, and just as important, they would forgive him for handing it to them in the first place.  "I need to go to Sickbay.  And security.  So…call Mr. Spock."

"Yes, sir."

Kirk left as fast as he could, and successfully made it to a turbolift without being stopped by anyone else who was having trouble with the tribbles.  The turbolift was empty.  Even so, he refused to set down the squirming black cat.

"No, I am _not_ putting you down.  You'll hightail it out of here the second the door opens, and I'm not taking the chance," Kirk said sternly.  "I don't have time to chase a silly cat around the ship."

"Me_row_," Surak said indignantly.

"Don't get offended, _you're_ the one in trouble here," Kirk snapped.  "I bet you thought it was all fun and games to go fish tribbles."

"Meow," Surak agreed.

"Well it's not, it's a problem, interfering with the efficient running of my…"  He stopped.  Moaned.  "_Why_ am I talking to a _cat_?"

Surak didn't answer.  He knew when he was being insulted.

Kirk made it to Sickbay with good speed, no further delays.  He found Sickbay virtually deserted.  He ignored the mystery for the moment, more interested in dealing with McCoy, who he found in the back room.  McCoy was engaged in running a scanner over a large brown tribble, with his back to the doorway.

"Mind if I have a word with you, Bones?"

"Oh hi, Jim, what do you need?" McCoy asked without turning around.

"I have a question.  Have you seen your cat lately?"

A puzzled expression crossed McCoy's face.  "No…not recently.  He's probably asleep somepla…oh."  McCoy turned around in mid-sentence.  He sighed.  "What'd he do?"

Kirk handed Surak to McCoy and glared at both of them.  "He thought it would be clever to go fishing for tribbles."

"Did he catch any?"

Kirk continued glaring.

McCoy coughed.  "I mean…_bad_ Surak!"

"Meow," Surak protested.

"He doesn't see the problem," McCoy explained.  "Actually, neither do I," he added thoughtfully.  "Why do you care if he catches a couple of tribbles?"

"I don't care if he catches tribbles!  I care when he's sending a hundred tribbles into a panic and preventing their capture entirely!"

"Well, that _is_ a little different," McCoy admitted.

"I told you when he came aboard that that cat would be trouble!" Kirk snapped.

"Now wait a minute, that's not fair, Jim," McCoy protested.

"I told you he would be trouble.  He was trouble today."

"You told me that in August.  It's _June_.  _Eleven _months, and no complaints!  Causing one problem in almost a year is better than most of our _crewmembers_ do."

Kirk had to admit there was a certain reasonableness in that.  To himself, he had to admit it.  Not to McCoy he didn't.  "Fine.  Whatever you say.  We'll argue about it later, I have to get to security."

"Do I want to know why?" McCoy asked cautiously.

"Apparently tribbles don't like red."

"No, I don't want to know why," McCoy decided.

"Right."  Kirk started to leave, but paused midway across the room, puzzled.  Forget virtually deserted, the place _was_ deserted.  "Where is everyone?"

"Hunting tribbles, I expect," McCoy said with a shrug.  "We don't seem to have any in here, tribbles really aren't complex enough to require multiple people studying them, and no one's been coming in with tribble-related injuries, so I figured we might as well do something useful.  I stayed here in case anyone does come in, and sent everyone else off to help round up tribbles."

Kirk forgave him for the business with the cat on the spot.  "That was a brilliant move.  And I better get to security."  Kirk rolled his eyes.  "How many times have I thought _that_ in the last fifteen minutes."

"It's taking you fifteen minutes to get from engineering to security?"

"You'd be surprised how many people are having trouble with tribbles on this ship."

"No, I wouldn't," McCoy laughed.  "For little balls of fluff, they always _have_ had a knack for causing trouble."

"Except that they're not little balls of fluff anymore.  Now they're big.  And they've got fins, and glowing lights, and fangs, and…"

"And you're stalling," McCoy said shrewdly.

"No, I'm not."  Kirk sighed.  "_Yes_, I am.  Swimming tribbles are strange enough, who needs fanged ones?"

"Who don't like the color red," McCoy put in.  "Well, if you're going to procrastinate, you could at least stall to good purpose."

Kirk looked at him quizzically.

"You should call Gray and explain why it's taking fifteen minutes to get to security."

"Good idea," Kirk decided.  "Besides, maybe he's solved the problem himself."  They looked at each other.  "Maybe not," Kirk amended.  "Anyway…"  Kirk flipped the comm unit on.  "Kirk to security."

The reply was slow in coming, but it did arrive eventually.  "Lt. Simmons here."

"Sorry I'm late," Kirk said briskly, "you're not the only ones having trouble with the tribbles.  However, I'm on my way now—"

"I, ah, wouldn't bother, sir," Simmons interrupted.  "No real point to it."

"You…solved the problem?" Kirk said hopefully.

"Uh…no, not exactly," Simmons said unhappily.

Kirk knew he didn't want to know.  Not that he was paying attention to things like that today.  "You want to elaborate?"

"Well…you could come down, sir, but you wouldn't get in.  We're barricaded in."

"Oh.  You're barrica—you're _barricaded_?"

"Yes, sir, the tribbles got a little out of hand."

Kirk was not pleased.  "Wait a minute, if you're barricaded into the security base, where are the tribbles?"

"They left."

"They _left_?  Where did they _go_?"

"Well, last I saw, they were chasing five of our security guards.  You might want to warn engineering that they're at large; they definitely don't like red."

Kirk was silent for a long moment, trying to grasp the idea.  "I'm going to…call you back," he said finally.

McCoy was staring at him.  "Was I hearing that right?"

"Did you hear something completely preposterous?  Too insane to be even close to the truth?"

"Yes."

Kirk nodded.  "You heard right."

"I was afraid of that."

"I better go…do…something," Kirk said vaguely.  What exactly do you _do_ when fanged tribbles are chasing security around your ship?

"Good luck," McCoy said as Kirk started for the door.  "One other thing," McCoy added with a grin.  "You have a very nice tribble there, Jim."

Kirk was reminded once again that he was still carrying a fluorescent tribble.  He gave McCoy a withering look.

"What?  You didn't really expect to come in, have a conversation with me, and leave without a comment about the pink tribble?"

"Wishful thinking."

"Why _are_ you carrying a pink tribble?"

Kirk grimaced.  "I picked it up in engineering.  I should just stick it in a corner, but if it gets forgotten…"

"Wouldn't do to have the ship overrun by pink tribbles," McCoy agreed.

"No.  Especially not when we're _already_ overrun by fanged tribbles.  Which is why I should not be having this conversation right now.  Good-bye, Bones."

Kirk headed for the door.  He had every intention of leaving.  Fate, blind chance, or fanfiction writer's whim had other ideas.  The doors swished open.  And in came some noise.  A lot of it.  Pounding footsteps and several shrieks.

Kirk frowned.  "What is _that_?"

The answer was all too obvious all too fast.  Running blindly and going for the nearest open door simply because it was open, _that_ came into Sickbay.  That was four men in red shirts, who resembled nothing so much as a frantically fleeing stampede.  It was plainly obvious to anyone looking at them that they were _not_ watching where they were going, or taking into consideration who might be in the way.

McCoy, backing up quickly, fell over a biobed, looking admittedly foolish.  But sprawling across a biobed did get him out of the way of the herd.  Unlike Kirk.  Kirk was directly in their path.  He managed to get four steps away from the door.  He was _still_ directly in their path.

The red-shirts bowled over Kirk and kept going.  At least one of them distinctly shrieked "Carnivorous _tribbles_!" as they went by.  In four seconds they'd been through Sickbay, fled out the back door, back into the corridor, and off to who knows where.

Kirk sat up gingerly.  "What was _that_?"  He seemed uninjured, though his shirt had somehow ripped.

"That was either a red and black tornado, or a herd of security guards running amok," McCoy answered, staring in the direction they'd taken.

Kirk slowly got to his feet.

He needn't have bothered.

The doors swooshed open again.  Only one person this time, but he was running just as madly, though seven seconds behind his fellows.

"The fanged tribbles are _after_ me!" Jones shrieked hysterically.

Jones being Jones, running through a fairly empty room with only two people in it, one of whom was sitting on a biobed and the other of whom tried his best to get out of the way, Jones still managed to crash into Kirk.

Terror got Jones back to his feet in half a second.  He had just enough presence of mind to shout a "Sorry, Captain!" behind him as he kept running.

"I really must look in his psych file," McCoy said.

"I doubt it will explain why he's running from tribbles," Kirk said grimly, getting up again.

He needn't have bothered.

The explanation, in the psych file or not, was also coming through the door.  Tribbles.  Hundreds of them.  The size of cats.  And with the fangs to match.  McCoy retreated back to the biobed.  Kirk was not so lucky.  He avoided the first three, tripped on the fourth, and was run over by the fifth.  And the sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth…  Fortunately, at least, Gray had been right about the tribbles' objection to red.  None detoured towards McCoy and none stopped to bite Kirk.  They just swarmed past and over him.  Several hundred of them.  Maybe a thousand.  They took half a minute to all go by, and for a while there it looked like they'd never stop.  But eventually the last one went out the door, none too soon for McCoy.  And definitely not too soon for Kirk.

"Jim?"  McCoy looked over the edge of the biobed.  Kirk was sprawled on the floor, looking at the ceiling.  "Jim?"

Kirk didn't move, didn't even look, but he did answer.  "Yeah?"

"You all right?"

"I don't know.  You're the doctor.  You tell me."

"You look all right."

"Yeah."

"You feel all right?"

"Yeah."

"You're probably all right."

"Okay."

A pause.  "You gonna get up?"

"I don't think I'll bother."

"Why not?"

Kirk shrugged.  "I'll just get knocked down again."

"That's pessimistic."

"I think of it as practical."

"It's pessimistic."

"You gonna get off the biobed?"

Another pause.  "Not immediately."

"Exactly."

"Point taken."

Kirk continued contemplating the ceiling.  McCoy contemplated the far wall, which was what happened to be in view when sprawled with your head at the foot of a biobed.  Silence reigned for a few minutes.

"You know, I have the strangest feeling," Kirk said conversationally, "that this is all Jones' fault."

"Not all of it.  He only knocked you over for a third of it."

"That's not why."

"How do you figure then?"

"Have you looked at your calendar?"

"Not lately.  Why, is it 'Blame a Jones' Day?"

"No.  It's Friday."

"Don't tell me."

Kirk nodded.  "The thirteenth."

Any answer from McCoy was cut off by the comm unit.  It buzzed loudly, demanding Captain Kirk.

"It figures," Kirk said, resigned, and heaved back to his feet.  He went to answer the comm unit, while McCoy went to drag Surak out from under a cabinet.

"Kirk here."

"This is the Mess Hall.  We have—"

"—trouble with the tribbles," Kirk interrupted.  "I'll be right there."

The man was a little taken aback.  "Er, all right, thanks, Captain."

"Don't mention it," Kirk muttered, flipping off the comm.  He turned around, straightening his torn shirt.  Fortunately for the ship, unfortunately for the tribbles, Kirk had already moved through his brief bout of apathy and into his more natural state of anger.  "All right, the tribbles will probably kill us all, but there's no reason we can't take a few of them down with us."

"That's one way to put it."

"I'm going down to the Mess Hall, there's probably tribbles in the soup.  Could you call Spock, he's on the bridge.  Tell him to send some gold-shirts after the carnivorous tribbles."

"Got it."

"Thanks."

Kirk left for the Mess Hall.  He got there much faster than he'd gotten (or not gotten) to security.  "What's the problem?" he demanded, striding into the Mess Hall.

A man in a red shirt, (who we can safely assume was an engineer and less prone to panic) presumably the same one who'd been on the comm, indicated the replicators.  "Well, the tribbles?  They're in the food processors, sir."

"Of course they are," Kirk agreed.  "Where else would they be?  They were in there last time too."

"This, ah, isn't exactly like last time."

"What _is_ it like?" Kirk wanted to know.

He hesitated.  "Well, sir, um…"

Kirk's patience levels were just about at zero.  He didn't wait for an answer, but went directly to the replicators himself.  "Chicken sandwich," he ordered.

There was probably a chicken sandwich in there somewhere.  In among the mounds of tribbles that came out, swamping Kirk.  There may have been a few more in the corridor, or in the grain compartment, but it was a close thing.

Kirk looked around him, at the pile of tribbles.  "It never fails," he said quietly.  A dangerous sort of quiet.

The rest of the room gawked.  They'd been expecting a lot of tribbles, but who would be expecting that the Captain would end up buried in them?  After all, what are the odds of _that_ happening?

The wall comm unit buzzed demandingly.  On reflex Kirk reached a hand out.  He missed by about a foot.

"Someone hit that for me," Kirk ordered.

A blue-shirt obligingly whacked the comm unit.

"What?" Kirk demanded.  It was decidedly not the proper etiquette for answering comm units, but Kirk really didn't care at the moment.

"Captain?"  A voice that expressionless could only belong to Spock.

"What do you want, Spock?"

"We seem to have a slight problem."

"_You_ have a slight problem?  You wouldn't believe the slight problem _I've_ got.  I only happen to be chest-deep in tribbles."

"Do you think you will be able to get out unaided this time?" Spock asked gravely.

Kirk didn't answer.

"Captain?"

"I am going to kill Bones," Kirk said slowly.  "Sometime very soon.  Just as soon as someone gets me out of these blasted tribbles!"

"I believe we have another matter to take care of first."

"Oh, right.  Did you actually call _about_ something?"

"Yes, Captain.  We have a slight problem.  Specifically, the Romulan Bird-of-Prey decloaking off the port bow."

~~~~~

Whatshername:  You changed your name too soon.  Just before you proved yourself to be psychic  (I know it's not quite the same as Psyche, but y'know.)  I swear I was already planning to have red-shirts trample Kirk before you suggested panicking.  Either I'm predictable or we think similarly, lol.

Saurons Twin Sister: Thanks.  And so far Jones is alive, so you're okay in my book.  Not my literal book, my…oh forget it.

Shameeka: Was I late again?  Probably.  Oh well, as long as it's also hopefully great again. : )

PearlGirl: I actually found a web site.  Those are all real holidays Kirk's mentioning.  Giggle, risks speech.  Yes, you can use it, and what book were you reading?

Alania: hopefully your suspense has been allayed.  And renewed.  And thank you further for the name suggestion.  I don't know if people really sacrifice goats.  My source of information on that is Garfield comics.

EmpressLeia: Thanks, role switching is always amusing.

A.M.: What will I think of next?  Polka-dotted tribbles, but they never made it into the chapter unfortunately.

Wedge Antilles: Did I sound annoyed?  Because I wasn't, multiple reviews are always nice.  No, he can't maim Jones!  What would that do to his image?

Taskemus: Yeah, but it really was national turtle day.  And if you think there were too many tribbles in chapter thirty-nine…

BlesstheMoon:  Wow.  I reduced someone to tears?  I didn't know I was quite _that_ funny.

Beedrill: You should be happy then, if you liked the fanged ones.  : )  And you really don't have to read Xanth first…

Onward to forty-one!  Y'know, I think I literally thought, back around chapter two or three, that this could keep going for forty chapters.  Than I told myself that was crazy.  Thanks for the literal hundreds of reviews!  I love you guys!


	41. A Fuzzy Thing Happened to Me

Disclaimer: I don't own all the things I didn't own in the last chapter.  Including the title.  I stole this one from David Gerrold too.

No comments regarding David Gerrold?  Well, let me explain.  David Gerrold is the one we can blame for all the insane tribble jokes.  Who is he?  The guy who wrote The Trouble with Tribbles!  "You Think You've Got Tribbles—?" was an early title, but Gene Coon hated it.  And how do I know this?  My uncle gave me a book by David Gerrold about the writing of The Trouble with Tribbles.  So don't worry, I don't just happen to know random trivia about every Star Trek episode.  They were originally called Fuzzies, which explains this chapter's title.

Terribly, terribly sorry this took so long!  Bad Tavia, leaving the nice reviewers hanging!  But it's here now, and it's nice and long too.

Chapter Forty-One:

A Fuzzy Thing Happened to Me…

_As I was saying…_

"We have a slight problem.  Specifically, the Romulan Bird-of-Prey decloaking off the port bow."

Kirk felt the urgent need to comment.  His first comment is unsuitable for a G-rated story.  His second comment was "You call this a _slight_ problem?!"  (To which Spock responded, "Yes, 0.397 minutes ago.)  His third comment was "Sound red alert, I'll be right there."  His fourth comment, made over the din of wailing sirens and directed at those in the Mess Hall, was "Can't you move tribbles any faster?!"

But, impatience aside, Kirk did get out of the tribbles in only a minute or so, and set off at a run for the bridge.  He was in such a hurry (and understandably so) that he didn't even notice the pink tribble clinging to his shoulder.  Apparently it had developed a liking for him.

Kirk arrived on the bridge within three minutes of Spock's call.  As it was, he was already too late.  Not that it would have been likely to make much difference.  And not that they'd been destroyed and the bridge wasn't there anymore.  It was.  So was the bridge crew (including Sulu, who, circumstances notwithstanding, still couldn't resist commenting that Kirk had a very nice-looking tribble.  Kirk, succumbing to temptation, threw it at him.  Sulu caught it.), and so was the main viewscreen.  Minus any Romulan ships.

"Well?" Kirk demanded, dropping into his chair.  "What happened to the Romulans?"

"They have cloaked, Captain," Spock explained.

"Wonderful," was Kirk's comment.  "Are they responding to hails?"

"I'll try, sir," Uhura said.  She tried.  And they did.  Respond, that is.

Within moments the Romulan commander had appeared on the viewscreen.

"I'm James T. Kirk, captain of the starship _Enterprise_," Kirk snapped.  "You are in Federation space.  I demand an explanation."

"I am Commander Trajen, of the Romulan Bird-of-Prey _Vulture_.  We are here to kill you, Kirk."

Nothing quite like a blunt Romulan, except maybe a blunt Klingon.  Kirk was not in the mood to be impressed though.  And besides, he'd heard it a few too many times.  "Don't tell me.  I destroyed your honor, right?"

Trajen blinked.  "How could that be possible?  We've never met."

Kirk grimaced.  "Believe me, it's possible.  So why _do_ you want me dead?"

"I have decided to be praetor of the Romulan Empire."

"I see.  The relevance is?"

Trajen looked at him as though it were painfully obvious.  "You are aware that you are hated and reviled in the Romulan Empire?"

"I had some inkling of it, yes."

"Defeating you would greatly enhance my bid for power."

Not only blunt, but ambitious too.  Great.  "I hate to be the one to point it out, but there's a slight hitch in your idea.  Your one ship won't be able to destroy us."

Trajen smiled.  "I have a plan."

"Of _course_ you do," Kirk agreed.  They always did.

"Captain," Spock said in a low voice.  Kirk waved a hand at him, still focused on the Romulan.

"Cloaked, you cannot find us to fire on us," Trajen went on.

"Cloaked, _you_ don't have the power to fire on _us_," Kirk countered.

"Captain," Spock repeated, no louder but with more emphasis.  Kirk shot him half-a-glance, an "if the ship's not exploding don't bother me" expression, and looked back at the Romulan.

"We cannot fire," Trajen agreed, "but it doesn't matter.  _Vulture_ out."

Kirk turned.  "What _is_ it, Spock?"

"We seem to have a slightly larger problem, Captain."

"Don't tell me.  He brought friends!" Kirk said sarcastically.  "Khan, perhaps, or Apollo.  Or better yet—_Trelane_!"

Spock gave him a slightly odd look.  "No, Captain.  But we have been boarded."

There was silence on the bridge for a moment.  Then Kirk said, very slowly and quietly, "No.  No, we haven't."

Spock gave him a slightly odder look.  "Internal sensors very clearly show fifteen beam signatures—"

"No, they don't," Kirk said firmly.  "They don't, because we've already _done_ this plot.  Less than ten chapters ago.  And I'm _not_ doing it again!  Sure, it was all fun and games the first time.  Fill my bridge with smoke, point a disruptor at my doctor, call for the Klingons to destroy us.  Well, it was enough trouble the first time, I'm _not doing it_ a second time.  I refuse!  In fact, I want to talk to the author," Kirk demanded.

He did what?

"You heard me!  The author, I want to talk to the author!  I have a grievance."

Uh…okay, shoot.  Not literally, Spock.

"Hey, you're talking to _me_ here, _I'm_ the one with the complaint.  I don't like this plot, and I'm not doing it," Kirk insisted.

What's wrong with it?  It's got action, humor…

"It _hasn't_ got originality."

Okay, _that_ I take exception to.

"The whole Klingon saga.  Aliens beam aboard and wreak havoc.  Romulans just beamed aboard, and I'm betting they're here to wreak havoc."

Well, yes, that is true.

"Are they going to Sickbay next?"

No.

"The auxiliary control room?"

No.  Remember?  You left orders for the door to be locked after last time.

"True.  But it's still too similar.  You need to rewrite it."

I do not.  I like it.

"I don't.  And I refuse to participate."

You don't have a choice.  I'm the one at the keyboard, remember?  We're only having this conversation because I thought it would be amusing.

Kirk frowned.  "Okay, this is fast approaching regions completely lacking in fairness."

I'd say life isn't fair, but I hate it when people say that.  Anyway, this'll be good, I promise.  It's branching into a completely different direction.  And you've been kind of silly looking for two chapters now.  You get to be brilliant, if you let me go ahead with the plot.

Kirk was doubtful.  "I have doubts."

How about shore leave?  You can have shore leave afterwards.

"It's about time, it's been twenty chapters now."

Okay.  Cooperate, and shore leave it is.

"I'm thinking Risa…"

I'm thinking G-rating…

"All right, whatever.  But this better be good."

It will be.

At which point the actual plot came back, after that completely random and probably unnecessary divergence.  Everyone, Kirk included, immediately forgot or ignored that he'd been carrying on a conversation with the narration for the last page and a half, and all firmly believed that only a matter of seconds had gone by.

"Internal sensors very clearly show fifteen beam signatures emanating from the Romulan ship and culminating somewhere in the saucer section.  I am uncertain precisely where."

"Thank you, Mr. Spock, you're always a font of good news."  Kirk didn't notice Spock's eyebrow rising, too busy turning the circumstances over in his head and searching for what he knew had to be there.  A brilliant plan, that only he would be able to find and initiate.

The problem was direr than one might think.  What were fifteen Romulans, when you had 430 crewmembers?  Nothing, really, and he suspected Trajen of having delusions of grandeur.  The trouble was the same trouble they'd had before.  Whether the Romulans knew it or not, they had several million furry round allies.  The tribbles had no reason to help the Romulans, of course, but they had a way of breeding chaos, which could only hamper efforts to capture the Romulans.

A pity they couldn't use the tribbles against the Romulans somehow.

Use the tribbles?  Kirk sat bolt upright.  Now there was an idea.  But how…his eyes lit on Sulu, who was absently petting the fluorescent tribble on his console.

Use number one.

Kirk flipped a switch on his chair arm, and hooked into the speaker system.  "This is Captain Kirk speaking, we seem to have something of a problem.  Specifically, fifteen Romulans have boarded.  There is no doubt that they will be apprehended shortly."  That was as much for the benefit of the Romulans as for the crew.  "Some strange things are going to be happening.  No one panic, everything is completely under control.  Kirk out."

He could sense Spock's eyebrow going up somewhere behind him.  "'Strange things,' Captain?"

"Yes, Mr. Spock, very strange things," Kirk said briskly with no hint of an explanation, and called engineering.  "Mr. Scott, may I have a moment of your time?"

"Aye, Captain, is it about the Romulans?"

"Yes, it is.  I need a few things from you."  Kirk considered carefully, his mind going a light year a second.  "First, some red paint, preferably in spray bottles or cans of some kind."

"Er, red…paint, Captain?"

"Yes, as close as you can get it to the color of your shirt.  Also, some nets.  Butterfly nets, I think they're called."

"Butterfly…?"

"And I need you to do one other thing for me.  Turn off the lights."

"Turn off…Captain, _what_…?"

"Every light on the entire ship, Mr. Scott, I want them all off.  And send out some kind of signal to disrupt all belt lights too," Kirk added.  "You can do that, can't you?"

"Well, yes, Captain, but how're we going to _see_?  It's _dark_ in space!"

"Of course.  And it'll be nice and dark for the Romulans."

"And for us," Scotty pointed out unnecessarily.

"Not at all, Mr. Scott, not at all.  You have an excellent source of completely natural lighting sitting in a pile right in your engine room."

"Captain…you don' mean…"

"I do.  We're going to use the fluorescent tribbles."

Within a matter of minutes the ship was dark, and engineers with armfuls of fluorescent tribbles were wandering the ship, passing out the new lighting source.  Kirk reclaimed the pink tribble from Sulu, and he and Spock set off for engineering, leaving the rest of the bridge crew to secure the bridge.

*  *  *

It was a strange thing walking through the corridor by the light of a pink tribble.  Kirk held it up like a lantern, and it cast a rosy glow around them in the deep blackness.  It made Spock's blue shirt look almost purple, while Kirk's took on an orangish tinge.

Once they got to engineering, it was lit much better than the rest of the ship.  Partially due to the glow from the warp reactors, but also because of the pile of fluorescent tribbles.  It was not an inconsequential pile.  It was a massive mound of many-colored fur.  Hot pink, electric blue, lime green, shining yellow, vivid orange, casting a strange light on the goings-on.

Passing in every direction were engineers carrying armfuls of brightly colored tribbles.  With a couple of exceptions.  Scotty and another engineer trailing behind him were carrying such interesting things as butterfly nets and spray cans.  Kirk and Spock appropriated those, with a couple of extra fluorescent tribbles.

"I still dinna see it, Captain.  What are you goin' to do with butterfly nets and paint?"

Kirk grinned.  "First I'm going to net some tribbles.  And then I'm going to net some Romulans." 

*  *  *

In a different section of the ship, a few Romulans were having difficulties.

"What happened to the lights?"

"How would I know?"

"Maybe they had a systems failure."

"Yeah, those happen a lot.  Random system failures with no relevance to the plot, or anything else.  Just random black outs."

"So what are we gonna do?"

"Use belt lights, of course."  A clicking sound, and no lessening of the blackness.  "Or maybe not."

"Maybe we should just stand here until they come back on."

"Think there's a light switch around?"

"I don't know…ow."

"What?"

"I just found the wall."

They went on like this for some time.  In fact, they were so involved in their dialogue that they didn't turn and notice the faint pink light just around the curve behind them.

Kirk concentrated, listening to the discussion.  "I think there's four of them," he said in a low voice.  (There were.  How do I know?  I'm the author.)  "Hard to tell, what do you think—?"

"Captain.  Four people approaching.  Rapidly," Spock said quietly, nodding in the opposite direction to the Romulans.

Kirk turned his attention that way.  Now that he was trying he heard faint footsteps, and a distant shout.  He couldn't be sure, but he thought it a good bet that the shout was something along the lines of "carnivorous tribbles."

"Back against the wall, quick," Kirk said.  

He and Spock backed up, and it was a good thing they did, because a moment later a black and red tornado thundered by.  They went around the curve, and Kirk listened with satisfaction to the sound of several people crashing into several other people, a lot of curses in Romulan, and continued footsteps moving away.

"What was _that_?" came a dazed voice from around the curve.

Spock started to step away from the wall.  "Not yet," Kirk warned.

Four seconds later another man came running by shrieking about fanged tribbles.  The Romulans had been pretty well scattered by the last herd, but Jones still managed to knock over at least three.  He shouted a hurried "Sorry!" and kept running, probably unaware that he'd encountered Romulans.

"What kind of lunatic asylum is Kirk _running_?" one of the Romulans demanded.  Probably the single one Jones hadn't hit.  The other three were too busy getting to their feet again.

"Interesting," Spock commented, again beginning to move out into the corridor.

"Not yet," Kirk repeated.

Three seconds later a large mass of furry bodies passed at knee height.  Kirk's smile was a trifle malicious as he listened to the mingled sounds of purring, cursing, and crashing.  When the fanged tribbles passed, quiet fell.  The quiet of people who are resigned to their fates.

"You all right?"

"No."

"Not really."

"Anybody going to get up?"

"Wasn't planning on it."

"Me neither."

"Who knows what'll come at us next."

Kirk smiled.  "Four down, eleven to go."

And, incidentally, the next thing that came at the Romulans were several personnel in gold shirts who broke off tribble-collection long enough to drag the Romulans down to the brig.

*  *  *

It has to be admitted that Kirk and Spock didn't have to work very hard to catch their first four Romulans.  Didn't have to work at all, really.  The next batch took more effort, and a multi-step plan.  First came a trip to Rec Room Three with the butterfly nets (go ahead and check back two chapters, it says what kind of tribble it is.  Or you could wait and find out as this chapter proceeds.), then onto an empty storage room.  And then Kirk went in search of a few Romulans while Spock kept an eye on the trap.

Kirk found three Romulans only a few corridors over.  Actually, they saw him first.  Seeing as he had pink light around him, and they were in the dark.

"Hey look!  A Starfleeter!" one of the Romulans shouted.  "And he's got _light_!"

"Follow him!"

Kirk turned and ran for it.  Not too fast; he didn't want to actually outdistance them.  It wasn't hard.  The Romulans were following light, true, but Kirk could see where he was going and they were still running in the dark.  Consequently, they tripped and bumped into each other fairly often.  You'd have thought they were red-shirts.  But they managed to follow Kirk somehow, by following the pink light.

Closing in on the storage room, Kirk reached the tricky part of the plan.  He hoped it really was as dark on the ship as it looked from inside the pink glow, and that the Romulans really were more interested in the light than in him.

He picked up speed as he approached the doors.  They wooshed open on his approach.  He threw the tribble inside and cut a sharp right angle to the left, disappearing into the black.  The Romulans stumbled blindly onwards.  They were momentarily confused by the disappearance of the pink light, when the doors shut, but they moved forward anyway.  Soon the doors opened on their approach, revealing the pink light again.  They rushed ahead.

The doors clicked shut behind them.

They discovered almost immediately that the room wasn't empty.  It was rather full in fact.  With fast moving balls of fur.  Who seemed to feel the need to fly at top speed at the Romulans.

"I've been hit, I've been hit!" one of the Romulans shrieked.  The fact that what hit him was soft and furry didn't seem to matter.

"What are they launching at us?"

"Can't tell, it's some new form of projectile!"

"Hit the deck, here come some more!"

It was rather chaotic.  Kirk and Spock listened from the outside, by the light of an electric blue tribble.

"Who would've thought flying tribbles could be so useful?" Kirk asked, grinning.

"This is certainly an…unusual way to use tribbles, Captain."

"Seven down, eight to go."

*  *  *

Before Kirk and Spock could get to work on the next batch of Romulans, there was a new development that had to be adjusted for.  Specifically, the sight of three Romulans walking along by the light of several fluorescent tribbles.  They appeared to be holding them at arm lengths with definite expressions of dislike, but the fact remained that they had them.  Kirk called Scotty and had the lights turned back on.  If the Romulans had light, there was no good reason to leave the ship in darkness.  Which would make the next couple of schemes slightly easier.

The first involved Kirk being captured by Romulans, while Spock went in search of the running amok red shirts.  But we'll focus on Kirk for the moment.  It wasn't hard to be captured by the three Romulans he located patrolling the corridor.  It was a little harder to get them to 'direct' him the direction he wanted when they pointed the disruptor at him and said, "Move, human."  The fact that they didn't seem to recognize him made the next bit not too hard though.

"You know, this isn't going to work," Kirk said conversationally as they walked down the corridor.

"Shut up and walk," the Romulan with the disruptor growled.

'I'm just letting you know.  You could save some effort.  Even if you capture everyone, they won't tell you the codes to work the bridge controls, and the auxiliary control room is the only other place you could access vital controls."

They continued on for a moment, Kirk hoping they'd caught the bait.  They were slow, but they did get it.

"Wait," a Romulan said, halting.  "We don't need codes in the auxiliary control room?"

Kirk managed a fairly creditable expression of guilt.  "Did I say auxiliary control room?  Sorry, no such thing, never heard of it," Kirk said rapidly.  It had precisely the desired effect.

The disruptor was jerked at him.  "Take us to the control room."

Kirk shook his head.  "Think I better not.  Captain wouldn't like it."

"Would he prefer that you be shot?"

Kirk hesitated.  "Well…somehow I don't think he'd be very happy about that either."  He heaved a sigh.  "All right, this way."

He led them down a couple of corridors, stopping next to the hatch he'd taken note of before.  It was positioned identically to the one that had dropped tribbles on him two chapters ago.

"Up there," Kirk said, pointing.

The Romulans looked at him doubtfully.  "Up _there_?"

"Well we didn't want it in an obvious place," Kirk said matter-of-factly.  "Intruders open doors, not hatches."

One Romulan frowned at him.  "And how do we know you're telling the truth?"

Kirk shrugged.  "You're pointing a disruptor at me.  If that's not a control room, you'll fire.  Where's the advantage in lying?"

The Romulans seemed to accept this.  One went over to the hatch, and started to tug.

"You better pull together, it sticks," Kirk advised.

A second Romulan joined the first, and Kirk crossed his fingers that it really would stick.  It really did.  The third Romulan, with an irritated expression, went over to help.

Kirk discreetly backed up.

The hatch came off.

And out poured a torrent of giant tribbles.  The Romulans were swamped, flooded, drowned.

"I am going to kill you!" one Romulan roared from the middle of the pile.

"How?" Kirk asked politely.  The disruptor was buried somewhere under the purring mass of tribbles.

"As soon as I get out of here, I'll…I'll…"  The Romulan came to the unhappy realization that getting out wasn't all that easy.  "Get me out of here!" he shouted.

But that wasn't to be.  The other two Romulans were equally stuck, and Kirk certainly wasn't going to dig them out.  He had to go find some gold-shirts to drag the Romulans to the brig.  And, of course, he had to locate Spock and report the numbers at ten down, five to go.

*  *  *

Kirk and Spock walked down the corridor, carefully tailing the group of five Romulans walking down the corridor.

"Judging by speed and trajectory, Stage Two should be at most advantageous position in six minutes," Spock said quietly.  "I recommend putting Stage One into play in four-point-five minutes."

"Fine with…" Kirk started to agree, than stopped.  He had just realized something.  "We can't wait that long."

Spock looked at him quizzically.

"I just realized where they're going.  Sickbay.  We've got to head them off."

"While it will be a bit more difficult to execute if the Romulans are in Sickbay, acting prematurely is just as likely to disrupt the plan."

Kirk was shaking his head.  "It's got nothing to do with that.  If they were going anywhere else I'd say wait.  But if they go to Sickbay they're bound to take hostages, and knowing Bones he's bound to tick them off, and one of them will be bound to point a disruptor at him, and I'll be dead."

"I am not following your chain of events.  It appears to me that in this eventuality the Doctor would be dead."

"No, I'll rescue him.  But then he'll kill me.  This would be so close to being like last time that you could pretty easily call it a next time, and Bones was very specific about what he'd do to me if there was ever a next time," Kirk concluded, just as though it made perfect sense.

Spock blinked.  "I see."  You decide if he meant it.

"Good.  Let's go."

The Romulans were more than a little surprised when two men in Starfleet uniforms came running at them carrying silvery canisters.  Streaks of red shot out and struck the Romulans, sweeping across all five.  And then they disappeared around a bend in the corridor.

The Romulans hit the floor on instinct, convinced that they'd been hit by phaser fire and were dead.  A moment's consideration reminded them that they bled green blood, not red, and therefore the liquid all over them couldn't possibly be blood.

One swiped some away from his eyes, and looked at it.  "Red _paint_?"

 "Why shoot us with _paint_?"

"This place is a lunatic asylum, not a starship!  Balls of fur everywhere, lights going on and off, red paint spraying around…"

"Come on, let's go look for some water and get rid of this stuff."

Under the close but unobserved eyes of Kirk and Spock, the Romulans had the good fortune of finding a sink behind the first door they tried.  (You'd be surprised how many sinks there are on the _Enterprise_.)  

They had bad fortune as soon as they turned the water on.  It didn't come out.  Something seemed to be blocking it up.  The Romulan at the faucet turned the water up higher, increasing the pressure.

Out plopped a tribble.

The Romulan picked it up with two fingers, and looked at it distastefully.  "Figures Starfleet would have vermin in their plumbing."  The tribble purred.  The Romulan tossed it down disgustedly.  "Forget the paint, let's just get this mission over with."

At that moment outside, four men in red shirts ran frantically by from the direction of Sickbay, past the door the Romulans were behind, then past Kirk and Spock.

"Straight ahead, then turn right please," Spock ordered.

The red-shirts must have been paying some slight attention, because they followed the order.

The timing couldn't have been better.  Jones had gotten lost somewhere along the way, leaving nothing at all between the herd of carnivorous tribbles and the newly emerged, red-spattered Romulans.

The tribbles charged.

The Romulans fled.

Kirk and Spock watched.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Kirk said happily.

"I see no way in which this is particularly aesthetically pleasing."

"Not the view.  The score."

"The 'score,' Captain?"

Kirk nodded.  "Tribbles 15, Romulans 0."

*  *  *

In a matter of hours things were quiet on the Enterprise.  Kirk sent the Romulans packing, and we can pretty well bet that Trajen won't make praetor.

McCoy noticed something else of even more interest, and commented on it to Kirk, who had come by to see if he was on any hit lists (he wasn't; they called it even between the tribble pile and the Romulans).  "So, Jim, what happened to all the tribbles?"

Kirk assumed an expression of almost philosophical thought.  "It's a funny thing about tribbles.  They like humans.  They also like Vulcans.  And since tribbles aren't big on nuances, they like Romulans too.  It could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship, except for one thing."  He smiled serenely.  "Romulans don't like tribbles."

McCoy shook his head, grinning.  "You beamed every tribble to the Romulan ship, didn't you?"

"All but one."  Kirk flourished a single pink tribble.

"Don't tell me you finally got attached to it?"

"Hardly.  No, I have a plan," Kirk said, eyes gleaming.  "I am going to find a very, very large box.  And I am going to put the tribble inside the box with lots and lots of grain.  And then I will mark it fourth class and ship it to Mars by way of Rigel.  It'll take weeks to get there."

"Why Mars?"

"Because the Federation has a penal colony on Mars.  With one very special occupant."

Comprehension dawned.  "_Oh_."

Kirk nodded.  "One could say that I'm sending the tribble as a little gift to Kagon."  He grinned almost maliciously.  "Except that it won't be little by the time it gets there."

And so ended the saga of the tribbles.  Except for one small little thing.  A dialogue McCoy had that afternoon with his cabinet.

"Jones, come out of there!"

"No!"

"I _told_ you, the tribbles are gone."

"I don't believe you."

"Have I ever lied to you?"

"Yes."

"I have not!"

"That time I had the stomach pains, and you took a blood sample, you told me it wouldn't hurt.  It hurt."

"That doesn't count.  All doctors tell their patients things won't hurt.  No one believes them.  Anyway, that's got nothing to do with anything.  The tribbles are gone, you can come out."

"I won't."

"You ought to be ashamed.  A grown man, scared of little balls of fluff.  What _are_ you, _Klingon_?"

"My family has bad luck with tribbles."

"You what?"

"Tribbles wrecked my cousin's life."

"They _what_?"

"Couple years ago.  My senior year at the Academy.  He wrote me.  Tribbles multiplied all over a starbase, and he got stuck picking them all up."

A pause.  "Your cousin wouldn't be named Cyrano, would he?"

"You know him?"

"We've met."

"Well, he said some real jerk of a starship captain with a big ego assigned him to pick up the tribbles.  It's gonna take years."

Another pause.  "Word of advice.  I wouldn't mention to Jim that you're related to Cyrano Jones."

"I can't tell him about Cousin Cyrano anyway, I'm not leaving, remember?"

"Oh come on, Jones, be reasonable!"

"No."

"This is ridiculous!"

"I _won't_."

"Jones, _get out of my cupboard_!"

Jones came out eventually, but it took awhile.  All in all, it was a rough day for everyone.  Fortunately, shore leave was due next chapter.

Anyone even remember what they wrote?  Oh well, I'll reply anyway.

Alania: No, no, no, you have to see that episode!  Doesn't matter if I've explained it all, you have to see it for the simple reason that it's The Trouble with Tribbles!  And it's funny.  And why is Kirk carrying a fluorescent tribble?  Because I wanted a lot of random people to comment that he has a very nice tribble there.  No, really, that's why.  In the context of the story, it's because he picked it up to look at it in Engineering, and than he was so distracted by fanged tribbles who don't like red that he forgot he was still carrying it.  Y'know, stuck it under an arm and forgot about it.  And he didn't want to just leave it in the middle of a corridor later in case it got forgotten, and started multiplying, and…well, you get the idea.  And a funny note about Friday the Thirteenth is that Nemesis opened that day, back in December.  And don't ask me about Romulan/Klingon ships, I can't follow them.  Seems like half the time they have identical ships.

PearlGirl: As stated above, yes, you all need to see Trouble With Tribbles.  It does seem to be a lot of people's favorite.  Personally, it comes in second to Amok Time.  Which has, oddly enough, as many memorably funny lines, and you can't beat a sappy ending.  Another chapter as soon as I can manage it!  They had a memorial?  For RED-SHIRTS?  What is the world coming to?

Shameeka: Wow, how did we jump from girly tribbles to comments regarding a love interest?   Well, okay, I guess.  Anyway, sorry this chapter took awhile.

Whatshername: Yeah, Simmons got a reprieve because I needed someone to answer the phone.  Comm.  Whatever.  And come to think of it, that _is_ what T'Pol lacks.  She needs to raise her eyebrow more often, I think.  

Wedge Antilles: Funny you should mention Disney, because…well, you'll see.

Taskemus: Ah, random rambling…I enjoy reading it so much.  : )  And as you can see, Kirk never did make it to security.  But then again, why would anyone want to, really?

Emp: Yeah, Kirk had a rough time.  But I was nicer this chapter.  And I'll be even nicer next chapter.

Nev: I think there's an untapped market out there…someone should be selling multi-colored tribbles…

Silverfang: I can't reply to yours because I'm in hiding from the SPCR.  I'll be nice to Jones sometime…soon.  I think.  Not this chapter…and not the next one…or the one after that…but maybe after _that_ I'll do something nice!  It's not my fault I've got things planned way in advance!

Unrealistic: Spork?  _Spork_?  Outrage!  Give your brother whatfor for me.  Everybody knows Kirk is much better than Picard.  But I do find Archer to be a close second.  Well, not that close, but a _respectable_ second.

These things just keep getting longer.  Not that I'm complaining, mind you!  You keep reviewing, I'll keep typing!


	42. The Happiest Place on Earth

Some of you may recall (in fact, you probably do) that last summer I went on vacation, during which I happened to be on a plane.  A few chapters later, Kirk, Spock, McCoy and Jones took a plane ride.  This summer, I went to Disneyland.  Three guesses where our dear characters are going on shore leave.

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek, nor do I own Disney.  They were created, respectively, by Gene Roddenberry and Walt Disney.  Two very dissimilar yet equally great men.  Oh yeah.  Paramount.  Can't forget them.

Chapter Forty-Two:

The Happiest Place on Earth

_After their difficult mission with the Romulans (which followed their difficult mission with the tribbles, which followed their difficult mission with the Klingons, which followed…well, you've read the story, it's been a bit difficult), it was high time the Enterprise had some shore leave.  And, as we can be sure they haven't been back to Earth since at least last August, it was time to pull into the homeport for a little vacation.  The next question became, what do we do with it all?  A question Kirk was down in Sickbay trying to answer._

"So, Bones, plan your shore leave yet?"

"Parts of it.  Have you?"

"Parts of it," Kirk agreed.  "Got a day free to do something?"

"I'll pencil you in," McCoy said dryly.  "Thinking of doing anything in particular?"

"Well…"  Kirk hesitated.  "This may sound a little strange, but bear with me."

"I've been on _your_ ship for four years, remember?  _Nothing_ sounds strange to me anymore."

"Well, I was thinking Disneyland."

McCoy blinked.  "Disneyland?"

"It would be a change of pace," Kirk pointed out.  "An excellent stress reliever.  You're always telling me I have too much stress."

McCoy was doubtful.  "I haven't been to Disneyland since Joanna was a kid."

"All the more reason to go.  It'll be fun.  It's not _just_ a kid's place you know."

"I don't know, Jim…" McCoy said skeptically.

"Let me phrase it differently," Kirk suggested.  "We could take _Spock_ to Disneyland."

McCoy's eyes lit up.  "I'm sold, let's go."

The most remarkable thing about it all isn't that Kirk wanted to go to Disneyland, or that he convinced McCoy.  It's that they really did manage to take Spock.  Spock stated that it would be an interesting opportunity to study human culture.  McCoy was convinced that he just wanted to go to Disneyland, but, being Spock, wouldn't admit it.  Either way, they all went to Anaheim on the third day of shore leave.

[A/N: I see no reason at all why Disneyland won't still be around in the 2260s.  Granted, it probably wouldn't resemble today's Disneyland all that closely.  Nevertheless, I am going to ignore that little factual detail, and send them on a jaunt through modern day Disneyland.  It's more fun that way.]

The first thing they went on wasn't actually in Disneyland, but in California Adventure.  Specifically, "Soarin' Over California," for the simple reason that everyone on the planet says it's the best ride in both parks and everyone on the planet is right.  They then went to the Hollywood Back Lot replica, which they all thought looked vaguely familiar for reasons they couldn't identify.  After that it was on to the board walk section, and the only roller coaster in Disneyland.

From the end of the line (of course there was a line; this is Disneyland, remember) Spock studied the roller coaster critically.  "Are you quite certain this is safe?"

"I'm sure it's fine," Kirk said.

"But what guarantee of that do we have?" Spock persisted.

"Don't be a chicken, Spock," McCoy said absently.  If he'd been thinking about it, he never would have said it.  But he wasn't thinking and so he did.  Say it, that is.

Spock considered.  "Doctor, please explain in what way I am being poultry."  Only a Vulcan could say that with a straight face.

It left McCoy without the faintest idea how to answer.  He stared at Spock for a moment, and finally said, "Stop laughing, Jim."

"Who's laughing?"

"You are.  Now let's stop talking about this and just ride the roller coaster, all right?"

So Spock never did find out in what way he was being poultry.

The line moved eventually, and sooner or later they got near the roller coaster.  And Spock made a closer examination of it.

"I really do not think this is structurally sound."

McCoy rolled his eyes.  "Spock, it's a roller coaster.  Thousands of people ride it every day.  I'm sure it's 'structurally sound.'"

"I am not certain.  The lateral supports do not look sufficient to support the track.  The kinetic energy would negate some portion of the gravitational energy, but in order to remain at a safe speed and prevent unanticipated vertical veering, the kinetic energy would have to be below certain levels, leaving the gravitational energy above those levels.  Therefore, the structure remains unsound."

"In _English_, Spock."  That was McCoy, of course.

Spock looked at him impassively.  "The structure does not appear strong enough to support the weight of the ride.  Therefore leading to potential crashes."

McCoy groaned quietly to himself, while Kirk attempted to look at it more reasonably.  "I'm sure Disney knows what they're doing when they build roller coasters."

"That is a valid point," Spock acknowledged.  "However, blind faith in the Disney Corporation does not alter the fact of the apparent instability."

The rest of the line was not completely unaware of the ongoing conversation.  The man directly behind them injected himself into the conversation.  "Hey, do you mean all of that gobbledygook?"

Spock's eyebrow rose.  "Pardon?"

"All that stuff about crashing and burning.  Do you mean it?"

"Burning, no.  Crashing seems to be a possibility though."

"And you actually understand all that bunk about kinetic energy, and lateral speed, and…whatever?" someone else asked.

"It is basic physics," Spock said.

The word was passed on to the people farther back along the line, in murmurs and half-caught phrases.

"Hey, this guy up here thinks the roller coaster isn't safe."

"That's silly, what's he know?"

"I dunno, he sure sounds like he knows what he's talking about."

"So?"

"And he's Vulcan.  Don't Vulcans usually know what they're talking about?"

"Oh, this one _always_ knows what he's talking about," McCoy snapped.

A little paradoxically, this just added to the growing tumult.

"If it's unsafe, why are going on this ride?"

"Has anybody ever gotten hurt?"

"No, but they're saying it's unsafe."

"I think we should leave."

"I think we should sue."

"Yeah, let's sue!"

"Things seem to be becoming a trifle chaotic," Spock observed.  "I would not have expected even humans to become this emotionally charged in so short a time."

A trifle chaotic did not do it justice.  Riotous was closer.  The vast majority of the line had become utterly convinced that the ride was unsafe, and something should be done.  The issue of where this information had come from did not seem to matter.

"We should do something," Kirk said.

"Such as?" McCoy asked.

"I have no idea."

So they watched as chaos surged around them and the crowd of peaceful vacationers turned into a riot demanding the head of the president of the Disney Corporation.  It wasn't long before Disney Security turned up, trying to quell the chaos, and demanding to know who had started the whole business in the first place.

"That's it," McCoy announced, "we're getting out of here.  I did not come on shore leave to be arrested for accessory to creating mass panic."

"I do not think, Doctor, that that is an actual charge capable of being brought against—"

McCoy ignored him, employed as he was in pushing his way through the crowd.  Spock cocked an eyebrow, Kirk shrugged, and they both followed McCoy out.  It took awhile, but they finally made it out of the riot that had turned into a mob.  They watched from a distance as the security called in reinforcements.

"Honestly, Spock," McCoy complained, "I can't take you _anywhere_.  Jim, _stop_ laughing!"

*  *  *

They made it out of the riot scene easily enough, and Disney Security failed to apprehend them.  They abandoned the roller coaster entirely in favor of the Ferris Wheel, which was supposed to provide excellent views of the park.  And, as an added plus, it didn't have an uprising around it.

However, it had its own problems, as they discovered when they were about halfway through the line (and of course there was a line).  That was when the Ferris Wheel stopped to let off passengers and failed to start up again.

After a short period of uncertain waiting, the attendant got a bullhorn, and announced, "We seem to be having some technical difficulties.  There is no cause for concern.  We hope to have the Ferris Wheel running again very soon."

"This isn't our day, is it?" McCoy commented.

"Could be worse," Kirk pointed out.  "We could be the guy stuck in the top car."

The guy stuck in the top car was having similar thoughts.  And, though it was faint, his shouting was identifiable even on the ground.  "Technical _difficulties_?!  I'm _trapped_!  And I _hate_ heights!"

"Uh, there is no cause for concern.  We'll have everyone down shortly.  In the meantime…sit tight," the attendant said uncertainly.

"No cause for _concern_?  I'm _doomed_!"

Kirk was shaking his head.  "No.  Absolutely not.  Can't be.  The odds are astronomical."

"Uh…please…stay calm…"  The attendant had no idea what to do, and he wasn't helping anything.

"Doomed, I tell you!  _Doomed_!" came the hysterical shriek.

"Billions of people on the planet.  Millions of places he could have gone.  Thousands of people just in this park.  And it's got to be Jones," Kirk said bleakly.

"The kid has rotten luck," McCoy mused.

"Yeah.  Let's get out of here before it spreads."

"That is not logical, Captain."

"Jones rarely is.  Come on, I'm leaving.  The Ferris Wheel, the boardwalk, even the park.  Time we got over to Disneyland anyway."

"Are you sure we should just abandon Jones?" McCoy asked, looking upward at the marginally calmer but still distressed ensign.

"What are we gonna do, climb up and haul him down?  Disney'll take care of it, that _is_ their job."

"Good point."

"Right.  They'll send Mickey or something.  Let's go."

*  *  *

They left California Adventure, crossed the plaza, and waited in line to get into the other park.  Showing their tickets at the gate, Kirk, Spock, and McCoy entered Disneyland.  The first thing to see was a giant flowerbed, with flowers grown in the shape of Mickey Mouse's head.  The inevitable mouse.

Walking through an archway, they came out on Main Street, Sleeping Beauty's Castle looming in the distance at the end of the street.

Strolling down the street, McCoy read a sign over a door on their right.  "'Great Moments with Mr. Lincoln.'  Should we check that out?"

Kirk grinned.  "Wouldn't miss it."

Spock nodded.  "It could be instructive."

Inside, the great moment proved to be the Gettysburg address—a great moment to be sure.  Delivered by a very realistic animatronic Lincoln, it was impressive to say the least.

"Well, that was impressive," McCoy said, as they walked back into the sunshine.

"I've always found it stirring," Kirk agreed with the utmost solemnity.

"Lincoln was one of the more noteworthy products of your species," Spock said calmly.

"Anyway, impressive," McCoy repeated.  They walked a few more steps.  "Of course," McCoy continued, "it doesn't compare to the real thing."

"No, of course not," Kirk agreed, nodding sagely.  "Impressive, still impressive.  But not as impressive as the actual man, of course."

"Except for having met him, I'd find it really very extraordinary."

"I'd have to agree.  And it's not Disney's fault that one or two—well, three—of their guests happened to have met the great man himself."

"No, can't blame Disney, they do very well.  I thought the likeness was very good."

"And we'd be in a position to know."

"We would.  And y'know, I think we're attracting stares, Jim."

Kirk looked around.  "We are indeed," he observed.  They were indeed.  Quite a lot of stares, in fact.  "Maybe we should continue to 'Great Moments with Mr. Cochrane.'"

"He probably won't compare to the real thing either though," McCoy pointed out.

"No, but he'll be impressive," Kirk countered.

"Oh, indubitably."

They continued on, leaving more than a few odd looks behind them.

"You did that deliberately," Spock observed.

"Yeah, we did," Kirk agreed.

"That's where the fun is."

*  *  *

They saw Great Moments with Mr. Cochrane (which was impressive) and then continued down Main Street.  They passed the statue of Walt and Mickey [A/N: My personal favorite spot in Disneyland.], and headed on through the castle.  This put them in Fantasyland.  Which is very picturesque [A/N: And another of my favorite parts of Disneyland; hey, once you pass the archway, everybody's a kid.], but not really the best place for our dear characters.  After all, as cute as "Peter Pan's Flight" might be, it's not really the sort of thing they'd go on.  The Matterhorn was a better possibility.  They weren't the only ones to think so, as there was, naturally, a long line (and while waiting in it they were told repeatedly—that is to say, again and again and again and again and again until Kirk wanted to shoot the loudspeaker except that he had left his phaser on the ship—to "please keep your hands, arms, feet, legs, tails, and snouts inside the vehicle at all times.  And watch your children!")  And after the Matterhorn, there was always the inevitable.

"So do we want to go on Smallgalaxy?" McCoy asked.  "It's corny, but it's a classic."

Kirk shook his head.  "Singing Klingons?  No thanks.  And if I _never_ see another Romulan…"

"Never mind, bad idea.  We could go in the Haunted Mansion instead.  It's equally corny and equally classical, and not a Romulan in sight."

"Sounds good."

Spock's eyebrow rose.  "A 'haunted' mansion?"

"Don't ask, Spock, you'll see."

And he did see, fairly soon.  They naturally had to walk from Fantasyland over to New Orleans's Square, but nowhere's too far from anywhere else in Disneyland.  And then there was the line, because there's always a line, but it does always move, and fairly quickly.  So, sooner rather than later, they got inside the mansion.

Kirk, Spock, McCoy, and what felt like 3,000 other people squeezed into the circular room.  The doors slid shut, and they were left in a small, wood-paneled chamber, with a row of pictures hanging along the top.  The lights dimmed, and the pictures began to stretch longer and longer.

"We seem to be in an elevator," Spock observed.

"That's not the point," McCoy said.

They stopped moving downwards.  There were no doors.  Which the booming voice was quick to point out.

"You will see," it boomed, "that there are _no_ doors, and _no_ windows.  How _will_ you get out?"

"Transporter," Kirk said immediately.

"And transporters can't penetrate the magical layer either," it continued.

"Oh well, guess we're trapped for eternity," Kirk said lightly.

"Of course," the voice said with a malicious laugh, "there's always _my_ way!"

The evil laughter continued, and the room was plunged into darkness.  Naturally half the occupants felt the need to scream.  Spock found it illogical.

After a moment the lights returned, a panel slid open, and the crowd proceeded along a dark passageway, to finally board the seats that would carry them along the rest of the ride.  Each vehicle could seat up to two.

By a whim of Fate (or Fanfiction writer), the Starfleet officers didn't end up aligned in the best possible arrangement.  Kirk had his own.  Which put Spock and McCoy together.

Kirk derived more entertainment from listening to them in the car ahead of him than he did from the ride itself.

They rode past a lot of skeletons and rattling doors.  They soon got to the most memorable part—the banquet hall filled with dancing ghosts.

"Holographic projections, no doubt.  Or perhaps three-dimensional images on screens.  Quite good effect."

"Shut up, Spock."

Next came the graveyard.

"Animatronic figures rising from holes hidden behind tombstones.  I would assume their intended value lies in surprise."

"Shut up, Spock."

Next came the singing plaster busts.

"Hmm.  I am uncertain if these are animatronic or holographic.  Perhaps a combination."

"Shut _up_, Spock."

"At the end, the booming voice was back to explain, laughing all the time, about how ghosts like to 'hitchhike.'  Which led into the row of mirrors featuring ghosts in the middle of every car.

"Obviously three-dimensional images, timed to match the traveling speed of the cars."

"Shut.  Up.  Spock."

They dismounted at the end of the ride, and exited back into the sunlight of Disneyland.

"So, enjoy the ride?" Kirk asked, grinning.

"It's a little difficult," McCoy snapped, "to enjoy it when every blasted thing is being _explained_ as you go!"

Spock was a little puzzled.  "I am not comprehending your problem.  Surely you were not under the impression that these were actually spectral beings?"

"No!  Of course not, but…that's not the point!  Jim, explain it to him!"

"No, thank you, I'm staying out of _this_ one.  I'm here to relax, remember?"

*  *  *

When the dusk settled in and the fireworks started lighting the sky over the Castle, the Starfleet officers decided it was time they headed home.  They walked out the main gate and down the boulevard towards the transport station, and Kirk asked something he'd been wanting to know all day.

"So, Spock, in the final analysis: what do you think of Disneyland?"

Spock considered.  "It is not a simple matter to pronounce judgment on the entire park.  Some exhibits were better than others.  Some were quite instructive, while others were most unrealistic."

"I _told_ you, the flying elephants aren't _supposed_ to be real."  That was McCoy.  (And no, they didn't ride those anyway.)

"As I was saying," Spock continued, "it varied.  I did note one over all theme though, which I believe will allow me to make a final conclusion."

"Okay.  So what do you think of Disneyland?" Kirk repeated.

"It seems to be a large-scale commercial enterprise dedicated to the glorification of a mouse."

Kirk and McCoy looked at him.  They looked at each other.  They looked back at him.

"You know…" McCoy said slowly, "much as I hate to admit it…that's really not very far off." 

Wedge Antilles: You see by now, I'm sure, why I was somewhat surprised when you made a suggestion related to Disney.  I wrote most of this while I was still on vacation, predating your suggestion.  Coincidence.

Shameeka: There's definitely a market for varying kinds of tribbles going untouched here…

Unrealistic: Yay, a new reviewer hung around for at least two chapters!  Usually they review once and vanish.  (feel free to do that, actually, anyone who's reading this and not reviewing, it's better than nothing)  Anyway, we just might get a look at that psyche file…we'll see.

Beedrill: You are much, much too good for my ego.  How am I supposed to remain humble and unassuming?  Oh well, I love it…  As to your question, how much I plan ahead varies.  For example, the Romulans initially turned up for the simple fact that I knew I would need to get rid of the tribbles somehow, and beaming them onto an enemy ship is the easiest way.  Hence the Romulans almost complete lack of motivation, in contrast to the Klingons.  As for using the tribbles on the Romulans, I'm not sure when I thought of that, but it was definitely a matter of how can I use the types of mutant tribbles, not what types of mutant tribbles should I create to use on the Romulans.  And I didn't think of running the Romulans over until I came to it.  Conclusion: Some was planned, and some was completely blind luck.

Silverfang: So…is the SPCR still happy with me, or was the Ferris Wheel not terribly nice?

Alania: I love referring back to chapters too.  That's what makes it a serial.  : )  And I agree it's a dreadful thing when video stores don't have the desired episodes.  Of course, on the other hand, how many TV shows do they have any episodes of?  Star Trek's about the only ones at my video store.

I believe that's all.  I expect to be posting again soon.  In the meantime, review!


	43. Where Does the Time Go?

Disclaimer: Star Trek, duh, isn't mine.  And if you don't know that by now…I worry.

WARNING!  WARNING!  If you haven't seen _Nemesis_ yet, this contains spoilers.  Nothing you won't find in pretty much any conversation about _Nemesis_, and it's only a couple of lines that you could probably scroll past if you're careful but…figured I'd warn you.

This was supposed to be posted on the 19th.  But nooooo…Fanfiction had to die, and screw up my timing.  Never mind that the entire chapter is _based_ on the fact of it being the 19th, not the 21st, but hey, FF had to die.  It always does.  But I'm not bitter.  Nope.  Not bitter at all…

Chapter Forty-Three:

Where Does the Time Go?

"Hey, Jim!" McCoy called down the corridor, "do you realize what today is?"

Kirk turned, with a puzzled expression.  "Aside from the sixth day of shore leave, absolutely nothing.  Nothing important, anyway."

McCoy shook his head incredulously.  "Not important, he says!  And this is very possibly the most important date in the last year!"

Kirk gave him a strange look.  "Okay…I don't know what calendar you're using, but on mine the nineteenth is pretty much a blank."

"Well of course it's not on the _calendar_.  It's only important to us.  Us meaning everybody on the ship and everybody interested in everybody on the ship," McCoy said by way of clarification.

Kirk stared at him for a moment, and finally just said the thought uppermost in his mind.  "_What_?"

"It's only important to us and our friends," McCoy said patiently.  "An anniversary."

"Nobody's married!"

"Did I mention marriage?"

"Anniversaries, marriages, weddings, they're naturally connected."

"But not necessarily.  You sure you don't know what July nineteenth is?"

[A/N: Anybody guess the answer yet?]

"I'm leaving," Kirk announced.  "Nowhere is it in my plans to deal with your calendar games.  Two days ago it was Disneyland, today it's Yosemite.  There's a mountain that needs climbing."

"Why?" McCoy asked, and immediately regretted it.  "Because it's _there_," they said in unison.

Kirk nodded.  "Exactly.  So, you enjoy the nineteenth.  I'm going."

"Now wait a minute," McCoy protested.  "It'll still be there on the twentieth.  You should stick around today."

"Not unless you give me a _very_ good reason."

McCoy knew when it was time to surrender.  "Fine.  I'll explain.  It's everybody's anniversary.  We've been around for a year."

This only led to Kirk giving him a very, _very_ strange look.  "Um, Bones, it's _nobody's_ birthday.  And even if it was, we've all existed a lot longer than a year…"

"Not existed like that existed," McCoy said impatiently.  "I mean _existed_."

"And that's at 35 years, remember all the excitement a few months back?"

"In a broad sense, 35 years, yes.  But more narrowly, we're exactly at a year."

Kirk wasn't irritated.  He was well past irritated.  "Are you planning to make sense any time soon?"

McCoy rolled his eyes and went on with painstaking clarity.  "One year ago today, a fifteen-year-old girl somewhere in California went on her computer, went on to Fanfiction.net, logged in, and posted the first chapter of a story titled 'How Would They React?!'  And here we are.  One year, 43 chapters, 304 pages later."

Kirk blinked.  "Has it been a year already?"

McCoy nodded.  "It's right there on the website.  Posted 7-19-02."

"That's…that's…"  Kirk frowned.  "I can't decide what it is."

"Oh?"

"I'm torn.  It's either dedication…or insanity."

McCoy nodded.  "I'm not entirely sure myself.  I doubt she is either."

"Probably not.  How do you think it ever got to be 304 pages?"

"That's the other mystery."

"Well, anyway, having acknowledged this, what do you want to do about it?" Kirk asked, and immediately realized that he needn't have bothered.

"Well, I was thinking…" McCoy began.

"That we should throw a party," Kirk finished.  "Of course you were."

"Well, yeah, I was," McCoy agreed.  "So, how about it?"

Kirk sighed.  "I should have my head examined, but…all right.  Fine.  We'll have a party."

McCoy beamed.  "Great!  I'll get started planning right now, I bet we can be ready by seven or so…"

"Wait a minute."

"What?"

"Jones is having nothing to do with this," Kirk warned.

McCoy nodded vigorously.  "Right.  I fully agree.  Nothing at all.  I'll go shopping myself."

"I'm coming with you."

[A/N: Kirk and McCoy, wandering through a Raley's…somehow I have never pictured them grocery shopping.  I suppose they have to eat…nah, they've got replicators.  Moving on at a rapid pace…]

*  *  *

At seven (or so) they were ready.  At five (or so) (that is to say, right now as this is being typed) the author decided that she'd been coherent (with the exception of April 1) for an entire year, and that coherence is overrated.  And so interesting things were brewing at seven (or so) in Rec Room Three.  Why Rec Room Three?  Because it's always Rec Room Three.

It was a very good party.  They hadn't brought any livestock back, fortunately.  Just some ordinary food of the non-replicator variety, which was enough to make it popular on the _Enterprise_.  And it occurs to me at this moment that writing about the party is, frankly, dull.  I don't want to do it.  Who cares who sat next to who and made small talk with who?  Maybe you, but not me, and I'm at the keys.  (I will comment, just in passing, that Jones was sitting with Denise.)  And now I'm going to jump ahead to the interesting part, which was at eight (or so).

It was at eight that McCoy threw the second part of his plans for the evening into gear.  Kirk had been aware of this, and given dubious permission.  At eight McCoy took over the cleared space at one end of the rec room and commanded the attention of the gathered masses.

"We're here, of course, to celebrate the last year.  And it seems to me that in order to celebrate the last year, we need to take note of what's been done in the last year.  And, well…"  McCoy shrugged.  "If it's good enough for Hollywood, I figure, why not us?  So I would like to announce the first annual Enterprise Awards.  I'll be your host tonight, and we have some very interesting people here to present the awards.  So, without further adieu we'll move right ahead to our first award. In no particular order, except numerical, we'll begin with Best Villain.  Our presenter, Mr. Singh, please?"

Kirk choked on his drink, coughed, was obligingly pounded on the back by Spock, and recovered enough to glare at McCoy, who was coming back to the table so as to clear the space for the presenter.  "A word, Doctor?" Kirk hissed.

"Problem, Jim?  You agreed to this, remember?"

"You didn't tell me who you were getting to present these things!"

"Wasn't me, it was the author."

"Sure.  And who _else_ is going to be showing up?" Kirk demanded in a low voice.

"No one important…" McCoy said evasively.

Kirk continued glaring at him.

Meanwhile, Khan Noonien Singh was holding the attention of the rest of the room.  "Let me first say that it is a great honor to be here.  And please, allow me to assure you that, while I do want to kill Kirk—don't we all?—I'll do my best to retrain myself."

Kirk was not enjoying himself.

Khan went on.  "As I said, it is a great honor to present this award for the best villain of the last year.  Best villain, though, is something of an oxymoron, I feel.  Perhaps it would be better labeled worst villain.  Most ruthless, most relentless, causing the most trouble for the crew of the _Enterprise_.  And the award goes to…"

There was a drumroll somewhere in the background.

"The goose!  Star of "In Pursuit of Feral Bronte Leucopsis," Chapter Seventeen."

The goose, who had been sitting quietly at a back table, flapped up to accept the award.  It was all Jones could do to keep from diving under the table, which he probably would have done except that he was sitting next to Denise.  He restrained himself.

Other people didn't, though their lack of restraint was along different lines.  The award, you see, wasn't going to go uncontested.

"Hey!  _I_ should've gotten that one!  I'm more ruthless!" a Klingon protested from the left side of the room.

"You'd have had my vote," Kirk informed him, and then did a double take.  "Why is _Kagon_ here?" he demanded of McCoy.

McCoy shrugged.  "Same reason Khan's here.  Whim of the author."

"He's supposed to be on Mars!"

"He will be tomorrow.  It's a one day deal."

The goose, meanwhile, honked at Kagon indignantly, and then flapped back to its seat.  McCoy retook center stage (not to suggest that they had a stage, because they didn't.) to announce the next award.  "We're going to stay on the theme we've started here, and continue presenting villain related awards.  Next up, our Most Irritating Villain.  As this winner is in something of a category by himself, we had some trouble choosing a presenter.  Consequently, we had to get our most irritating guest star.  Ambassador Fox, please?"

A man in a gray-green jacket, with light brown hair and a perpetual sour expression, took the center.  "I'm not entirely sure why I'm presenting this award.  Apparently some people [A/N: Meaning me] think I'm annoying."  He paused. "I don't think I'm annoying.  I'm a diplomat you know.  Not bad at it, either.  I was only on the _Enterprise_ once, when we were going to Eminiar VII.[1]  And granted, I did upset a few people, and I did want Mr. Scott to lower shields and if he had we would probably all have been killed, and I did start threatening court-martials, but I thought that line about diplomacy being a job best left to diplomats was rather well phrased—"

"Could you get to the point?" McCoy interrupted.  By then half of the audience had glazed expressions.

"Oh.  Right.  Anyway…This award is being presented to a crook, a scoundrel and an all around villain who made himself such a nuisance that it's a wonder he was never shoved out an airlock.  The award goes, naturally, to… (drum roll…) Harry Mudd, who appeared in chapters 21, 22, 25, and 26."

Harry came up amidst an enthusiastic round of applause, and accepted the award with multiple extravagant bows.  "I am delighted to be here, DE-lighted!  After all," he added with a wink, "it's here or the penal colony!  But seriously, I am greatly honored by this acknowledgement, and will cherish this lovely statue for the rest of my life.  Unless, of course, one of you would like to buy it.  Talk to me afterwards about prices!"

"I suppose Harry's here at the whim of the author too?" Kirk commented in an undertone to McCoy.

"Pretty much."

Harry, meanwhile, was far from finished.  "Truly, truly, I am honored.  And I owe it all to my…er, dear Stella."  He waxed poetic.  "As I've always said…Behind every great man, there is a woman urging him on, and so it was with my Stella. She urged me on into outer space…I think of her constantly. And every time I do, I go further out into space."

"Something tells me she just watched _I, Mudd_," Kirk concluded.

"I think so."

Harry was still at it.  "Every time I make a deal, I think of her, and it urges me to get the very best price.  If I ever go broke, I might have to go home!"

"Can we drag him off of there?"

"Everyone goes on too long at awards ceremonies.  It's traditional."

_"Bones…"_

"All right, all right."  McCoy got up and went over to Harry.  "Okay, Harry, that's enough, glad you could come…"

"And don't forget everyone, I've got a special deal running on Denobulan flame gems!" Harry put in as he was ushered back to his seat.  "Look me up on Mars, I'll give you a good price!"

"Ahem.  Yes.  As to our next award, we have kind of an interesting one, highlighting our guest star who came from the farthest away within the last year.  This one will be presented by our guest star from truly the farthest away.  Rojan of Kelva, please?"

Kirk groaned quietly to himself.  No one paid any attention.

Rojan the Kelvin,[2] who looked perfectly human despite being as alien as they come, took the center.  "I'm presenting this award for the simple reason that I'm definitely the guest star from farthest away.  You don't get much farther than the Andromeda Galaxy.  300 years, one way.  The winner of this award didn't actually have a long trip, but comes from the farthest away temporally rather than geographically.  In other words, he's from around here, but not this century.  The winner is… (drum roll…) Mr. Data, appearing in Chapters 6-9."

Amidst applause Data came to the front and accepted the award.  "Thank you very much," he said politely, and started back to his seat.

"Wait a minute, what about a speech, Data?" McCoy called out.

Data blinked.  "A speech?  What about?"

"Anything you want."  When Data did not continued, McCoy figured maybe he ought to give a suggestion.  "You could just tell us what's been happening to you in the last year."

Data nodded.  "Reasonable suggestion.  However, do you wish to hear about the last year, or the last year?"

"Give us the last _year_," McCoy decided.

"Very well.  It has been quite busy.  There were ups and downs.  Two of my friends got married.  That was an up.  And I was promoted to first officer of the _Enterprise_.  Another up.  But then there was hostility with the Romulans.  A down.  We won though.  Still another up.  But unfortunately, along the way, I died.  I consider that a down."

"I'm sorry to hear that," McCoy said sincerely.

"It may not be permanent," Spock commented.  "Resurrections are not unheard of."

"Yeah, although _certain_ of us who _need_ to be resurrected somehow haven't yet," Kirk grumbled.

"Don't worry Jim, I'm sure the BBK is still continuing its noble work."

"I hope so."

Somewhere over the course of the conversation digression Data sat down, leaving the way clear for McCoy to announce the next award.  "Next we'll be highlighting another guest star.  Our Most Interesting Guest Star, to be presented by a…very interesting guest star.  Kara?"

Kirk brightened up at this one.  And let us clarify right here that this one wasn't chosen on the basis of the author's interest.  (We may have ended up with Garth of Izar in that case.)  But a dancing girl from Argelius II[3] is bound to be interesting to this particular group of characters.

"You finally came up with a good presenter," was Kirk's comment on it.

"You _would_ like this one."

"I remember her.  She was interesting."  Kirk grinned.  "Very interesting."

"The rating, Jim, keep in mind the rating," McCoy warned.

Kirk frowned.  "And very _dead_."

McCoy shrugged.  "Coherency is overrated, remember?"

"How could I forget?"

The awards ceremony was continuing.  "A better title for this award might be Most Unusual Guest Star.  And I'm certain these were never seen anywhere else," Kara said, flashing a smile.  "The winner is… (drum roll…) the fanged tribbles, of Chapters  39-41."

There was scattered applause (none from the security division).  There were no fanged tribbles.

"We don't have any fanged tribbles to accept the award, unfortunately, because they're all halfway to the Romulan Empire," Kara explained.  "Also, we didn't want to upset those members of our audience wearing red."

The simplest way to smooth over the absence of an acceptor for the award was to simply move on to the next one.

"Next up, we're going to focus on some of our non guest-star characters, characters," McCoy said.  "First, a rather nice award.  Our Most Improved Character.  Harry?"

It seemed that Harry wasn't just there to accept an award, but in an official capacity as well.  He bounded up to the center.  "Let's all welcome me back to the stage, thank you, thank you.  I'm delighted to have your attention again, and let me remind you, if you need a good deal on slime devils from—"

"The _award_, Harry!" McCoy interrupted.

"Oh, right.  That," Harry said, momentarily put out.  He recovered quickly.  "Well, anyway, I'm here to present this award because of my charm, my good looks, my winning ways.  And because I'm the only character who wasn't either a regular on virtually every show, or a one-hit wonder.  And, of course, because our dear author just watched I, Mudd.  In any case, this charming award goes to a character who began with a five paragraph appearance where he was, essentially, eaten by a plant, to the position he's in now.  Probably still likely to be eaten by a plant, but also a regular who's had two chapters centered entirely around him.  Also, he now has a first and middle name.  The award goes to… (drum roll…) Ensign Richard Samuel Jones, who's appeared by now in far too many chapters to name them all."

Jones was a little surprised.  "_Me_?  They don't mean _me_, do they?"

"Of course they do, they said you," Denise pointed out.

"Well, yeah, but…me?"

"Oh go up and get the award!"

So he did.  He went up, accepted the award from the beaming Harry, mumbled a nervous, "Thanks," and escaped back to his relatively safe seat.

McCoy retook the center to announce one final award.  "Before this chapter runs on far too long but before we go, we've got one more.  Last but not least, a sort of consolation prize for our unfortunately and unintentionally least character.  Our Most Underappreciated Character.  Grant?"

An inconspicuous man in a security uniform and a mournful expression came to the center.  "You probably don't know who I am.  People rarely do.  Probably because I'm very, very underappreciated.  I'll tell you my story.  It's short.  We beamed down to Capella IV.  I saw a Klingon, and consequently shouted, 'A Klingon!'  I drew my phaser.  I was immediately killed by a native."  He shrugged.  "And, well, that's about it.  Life continued for everyone else and no one even stopped to check if I was buried.  But anyway, I'm supposed to give an award.  This award goes, with an apology and an assurance that it was completely non-deliberate, to the regular character who has been featured least in the last year.  The winner, so to speak, is… (drum roll…) Lt. Uhura."

Uhura came up, with a faintly doubtful expression.  "Please accept this award and our heartfelt apologies," Grant said politely.

"Well, this makes up for it," Uhura said with a rueful expression.

"We really are sorry," Grant put in.  [A/N: I really am.]

"That's all right.  Really," Uhura said.  "I've noticed something.  People who are written about get into a lot of trouble.  I, on the other hand, have had a very stress-free year."

Kirk looked faintly thunderstruck.  "She has a very valid point!"

"No, that's Spock.  And anyway, don't get any ideas, Jim," McCoy warned.  "Captains always get written about.  Well, unless maybe someone wrote a story about a universe where you didn't exist."

Further thoughts along those lines never came into existence, as McCoy had to go up and end the show.  "Well, that's all folks, I hope you've enjoyed the evening.  And I hope you've enjoyed the last year too.  It's been insane, it's been complex and involved, it's been strange and unusual.  And it's been a lot of fun.  And we're going to let one small, semi-sappy note in and thank you for letting us be a part of your lives.  Here's to another great year!"

Whew, has it been a year?  Guess it has.  You'd think I'd have better things to do with my time…kidding, really.  I do have better things to do.  Somehow I do them and this too.  Anyway, many, many thanks to all of you, if I list you I know I'll forget someone and feel horrible later, so…I know who all of you are, you know who all of you are, I'll just say thanks for the reviews and the encouragement again, and move on.

Whatshername: I think I'll just use this opportunity to tell you to stop nuking cities and post.  And to wonder why the SPCR is after me, when one considers the rotten things you've done to Simmons.

Wedge Antilles: Excellent!  Another convert to Xanthian!

Silverfang: Is the SPCR happy _now_?

Nenya Culariel: The poultry bit was my favorite too…and I was nice to Jones in this chapter, see?

Alania: Yeah, vacations are good inspirations.  And anyway, I just like Disneyland. : )

  


* * *

[1] A Taste of Armageddon

[2] By Any Other Name

[3] Wolf in the Fold


	44. Some Date or Other in July

Disclaimers bore me.

I realized I forgot something important.  Well, actually, I remembered it but at the time we were busy fighting Romulans, and then shore leave was promised, and then anniversaries came along, and, well…anyway, this should rectify the problem.

Chapter Forty-Four:

Some Date or Other in July

Kirk was back on the _Enterprise_ on the twelfth day of shore leave.  He was in his quarters, trying to sleep in.  He hadn't overslept in months.  He wasn't going to today either.

He was woken out of a sound sleep and a very good dream by a buzzing comm unit.  He groaned, rolled over, and slapped the comm.  "Yeah?" he mumbled.

"You awake yet, Jim?" McCoy's voice came.

"No.  I'm not."

McCoy ignored that and forged ahead.  "Sure.  I just realized, do you know what we've done?"

Kirk stifled a yawn.  "Lately?  Fought Klingons.  Fought Romulans.  Fought tribbles.  Went to Disneyland.  Dealt with an invisible ensign.  Celebrated Easter.  Better ask what we _haven't_ done.  Sleeping, for example."

"Exactly.  What we _haven't_ done.  We forgot something."

Kirk was in no mood for games.  "Can we keep forgetting it for awhile, and deal with it later?"

"Jim, this is important!"

"Unless it's an issue of forgetting to put away the antimatter, please go away and let me sleep."

"It's eight-thirty!"

"Right.  I'm on shore leave.  Call me back at noon."

"If you wanted shore leave you should've stayed by the shore."

Kirk sighed.  "I am going to turn off the comm very, very soon."

"Fine.  I'll tell you.  We forgot the Fourth of July."

Kirk was sorry that this conversation wasn't in person.  It seemed a pity to waste such a perfect expression of pure exasperation.  "Well that's not exactly an issue of national importance, _is_ it?!"

"Actually, I think it is.  We forgot our country's most important national holiday."

"So celebrate the 30th of July instead, and let me go back to sleep."

There was a pause as McCoy considered.  "Actually…they did have important things happening all the way up till August 2nd, something happened then, I forget what.  Anyway, something must've happened on the 30th.  Maybe that's not such a bad idea.  Think the crew would go in for it?"

"Uh-huh.  I'm sure.  Everyone loves a party.  Good night."

"It's morning."

"Whatever."

Kirk turned over and went back to sleep.

McCoy called again an hour later.  Kirk slapped the comm without opening his eyes.  "_What_?"

"Sorry to bother you, but do you mind if we set off some fireworks in the shuttlebay?"

When Kirk woke up for good two hours later, he couldn't for the life of him remember what he had said in response.  He threw on some clothes, pulled his shirt on walking down the corridor, and went down to Sickbay.

McCoy greeted him with, "Sleeping beauty awakes."

"Funny," Kirk said without a trace of humor, and went right to the heart of the matter.  "Listen, I was more or less asleep last time you called…I didn't tell you that you could set off fireworks, did I?"

"I think your exact words were 'Do anything you want, just don't wake me up again.'  I took it as a yes."

"I wasn't in my right mind!"

"But you did say yes," McCoy countered.

"I was _asleep_!"

"So your subconscious said yes.  That's very telling."

Kirk was giving him a look.  "Don't psychoanalyze me.  I don't care if my subconscious wants to watch you set the shuttlebay on fire, I'm awake now and I'm saying no."

McCoy frowned disapprovingly at him.  "No wonder you're stressed all the time.  You don't let yourself have any fun."

"I'm serious!  It's a fire hazard!  And if anything _does_ catch on fire, Scotty'll never speak to either of us again!"

"All right, all right."  McCoy shrugged.  "It was a long shot anyway.  I'll just go with hot dogs and hamburgers and put on _1776_ in a rec room."

"Now _that's_ a better idea."

*  *  *

Kirk thought that was the end of it.  Well, aside from possibly dropping past for a hamburger and the song about how Adams can't write the Declaration of Independence because he's obnoxious and disliked.

Things were not going to be so simple.  Which Kirk realized within a matter of hours.  Which sent him back down to Sickbay in something less than a good mood.

"_Doctor McCoy_!"

Surak fled.  McCoy remained calm  "You hollered?"

"What is this?" Kirk demanded, shaking a sign at him.

McCoy took the sign, considered it.  It was plain enough.  White poster on a wooden post, with black lettering reading 'Captain Kirk Unpatriotic.'  "Looks like a picket sign."

"Explain," Kirk ordered.

"Explain?  I never saw it before."

Kirk continued glaring at him.

Realization dawned.  "Hey wait a minute!  I didn't have anything to do with _this_.  Sure, I was pushing fireworks, but I wasn't organizing a _picket line_!"

Kirk frowned, but accepted it.  "Well _someone_ is."

"I suppose I did mention the idea to a few people," McCoy admitted.  "They seemed enthusiastic…maybe a little too enthusiastic, as it turns out…"

Kirk sighed, leaned against a counter, rubbed his forehead.  "It's going to be one of _those_ days, isn't it?"

"Oh, I don't know.  You've already slept through half of it."

Kirk ignored that.  "What am I suppose to do about a _picket line_?  They don't teach things like this at the Academy!"

"Well…you could always agree to fireworks."

Kirk gave him a look.  "Oh that's helpful.  I'm going back to the bridge."

*  *  *

Things weren't any better on the bridge.  Spock was oblivious, buried in something at his own station.  The rest of the bridge crew, however, were giving Kirk dirty looks.

Kirk snapped long about midafternoon, breaking a twenty-minute silence with a loud, "What is the _big deal_ about _fireworks_?"

Spock looked up with a faint expression of surprise.  The rest of the bridge crew understood though.

"Fireworks are important.  It's tradition," Spock said.

"Exactly," Chekov agreed.

Kirk turned a puzzled look on Chekov.  "Why do _you_ care?  You're not even American."

Chekov shrugged.  "I just like fireworks.  They were a Russian inwention, you know."

"I don't care who invented them, we can't go setting them off in the shuttlebay!"

"I don't see why not.  It's a very good tradition," Uhura said.

"It's a fire hazard!"

"I quite agree," Spock put in.

"_Thank_ you," Kirk said gratefully.

Spock blinked.  "It is simply not logical to light large and explosive fires in enclosed places."

"There, you see?" Kirk said triumphantly.  "It's illogical."

He received three dirty looks from three directions, and then everyone returned to their consoles, a tense silence falling.

Kirk fled after another thirty minutes of silence.  He had tried to make conversation twice and had failed to talk to anyone but Spock.  It wasn't that they spent all their time talking when on the bridge; it was just that the atmosphere was usually much better.  A comfortable silence is considerably different from an uncomfortable one.  So Kirk fled.

Things weren't any better in the corridors.  Kirk was a popular captain.  He wasn't use to getting dirty looks from every direction.   At least on the bridge there were only three of them.  He almost retreated to his quarters but saw the picket line from a distance.  He could have dispersed it.  He turned around instead.  His usual retreat, Sickbay, didn't seem like a good idea, and he wasn't sure about engineering.  He finally ended up back on the bridge, where conditions hadn't improved.

Kirk could hold out against Klingons for a long, long time.  This was different.  He'd had enough by six o'clock.

"What about a compromise?' Kirk asked the bridge crew in general.

They turned away from their consoles.  "What sort of compromise, Captain?" Uhura asked.

Kirk sighed.  "How about…sparklers?  But that's it!  And only if Mr. Scott agrees that the shuttlebay probably won't go up in smoke."

Sulu, Chekov and Uhura considered.  "It sounds reasonable to us," Sulu said.  "We'll have to see about everyone else."

It sounded reasonable to everyone else too, even Scotty.  So at nine o'clock (even in space, who ever heard of fireworks starting earlier than nine or so?) a large portion of the crew, American and not, gathered in the shuttlebay for sparklers, hamburgers, and a showing of _1776_ next door.  It was an effort, but McCoy even dragged Kirk and Spock to it, and all of Spock's protests that this was a holiday he didn't celebrate based on a date on a calendar he didn't use were to no avail.  But once they got there, they paled in interest to something happening elsewhere in the shuttlebay.

"Sparkler, Sam?" Denise asked.

"No…no, I don't think so," Jones said uncomfortably.

"Oh come on.  They're fun!"

"No, I'm not good with fire."

"Little _kids_ play with sparklers!"

"We-ell…"

"Good," Denise said firmly, handing the unlit sparkler to him.

"Are you sure about this?" Jones asked uncertainly.

"I'm _positive_," Sandra said, lighting the sparkler.

It sparked, flared and caught flame.  Jones looked at it nervously, and twitched his wrist a little.

"Come on, wave it around," Denise encouraged.  She had lit her own and was waving it through the air in arcs and twirls, leaving a golden trail behind it.

Jones waved a little more.  When nothing immediately burst into flames, he grew a little more confident.  "Hey, that's kind of fun!"

"See?  What'd I tell you?"

Two sparklers later, Jones had grown more enthusiastic.  A sparkler after that, disaster struck, as it usually does when Jones is involved.  Jones waved a sparkler just a little too close to a sensor pad.  The computer noticed.

"Warning, warning.  Fire detected in shuttlebay.  Initiating standard fire prevention methods."

"Oops," Jones said unhappily.

Kirk was on the other side of the shuttlebay, but there was no doubt in his mind what had happened.  "All right, who gave Jones a sparkler?" he asked in a resigned tone.

Scotty was hammering on the nearest computer console.  "_No_, Computer, it's a false alarm, there's no fire!"

The computer didn't believe him.  "Fire has been detected.  Fire prevention initiating.

And it began to rain.  Great torrents of water pouring out of the ceiling, drenching the crew, streaming across the walls, puddling on the floor.

"_Now_ ye've done it," Scotty said, probably to the computer.

"Is this part of the tradition?" Spock asked, managing to look dignified with water dripping off his nose.

"Not exactly," McCoy said, looking dubiously at the jets of water coming off the ceiling.  Every square inch of everything in the shuttlebay was soaked, but the computer didn't seem inclined to stop the rain.

Kirk hadn't said a word since his comment about Jones and the sparkler.  Hadn't moved either.  He just stood, arms crossed, water dripping onto him.

McCoy eyed him warily.  "Ah, Jim, are you going to kill someone?  Because if so, I'm leaving."

Kirk blinked, and the corner of his mouth twitched.  He strived to suppress it but it did it again, and half a snicker got out.  He bit his lower lip, and, despite his best efforts, a full snicker escaped.  He inhaled sharply, and then lost control entirely.  In moments he was clutching his side, howling with laughter.

"Where's the…harm in…_fireworks_?" Kirk gasped.  "Never mind that they're—ha ha—_fire hazards_!  But of course—ha!—we can't have _normal_ problems!  No burned ham, we get…live _pigs_!  Forget bad…stuffing, it's a…flapping _goose_!  And no fire, just—snicker—rain!"

Kirk shook his head, chuckling, pushed soggy hair out of his eyes, and looked around at the wet crewmembers.  And then in an eye blink the amusement vanished and he turned a stern look on McCoy.  "Never again," he warned.

"Never," McCoy agreed quickly.  "Next July, I won't even light a match."

Kirk nodded firmly.  "Good."  He held the serious expression a heartbeat longer, and then it dissolved again.  "Rain, on the fourth.  Except that it's the 30th.  And in space!"

Kirk shook his head again and walked towards the door, threading his way between dripping crewmembers, laughing the entire way.

Spock and McCoy watched him go.  (Scotty was too busy arguing with the computer about whether or not there was a fire.)

"He took it rather well," McCoy said, faintly surprised.

"Indeed."

"Maybe Disneyland did him some good."

"It does seem to be a possibility."

McCoy nodded.  "Never underestimate the power of the Mouse."

~~~~****~~~~

If anyone's curious, I spent my Fourth of July watching _1776_.  It's quite funny.  Weird.  But quite funny.  I recommend it.

Tucker: I don't _know_ anything else about the mango, Jones keeps that pretty quiet.  And the remarkable thing is, I've actually heard of Schroedinger's cat.  Thank you, Blynneda.  And I'll think about Wes; haven't anticipated another crossover, but I'm always open to new ideas.

Whatshername: I still don't understand about Fish Skin Suit.  But as to the rest of your review, go BBK!  One of these days I'll write my own resurrection story for Kirk.  One of these days…

PhilosopherCat: Glad you like!  43 chapters isn't enough?  You want more?  Well, okay then!

Wedge Antilles: Don't bug me about Xanth.  Please.  I'm writing three novels for heaven's sake, plus an original one not posted anywhere.  So…don't bug me.  I'll get to Xanth.  On the other hand, I'm glad you want me to post.  And I don't need ego boosting, really.  Feel free to do it anyway, of course…

Alania: Thank you!  I finally have a good abbreviation for this.  I've been calling it Soup…Trekkie Soul is better.  Kahn's a fun villain, and Harry is delightfully funny.  I just watched I, Mudd again today…I'm corrupting the kids I'm baby-sitting and getting them into Star Trek.  : )

Unrealistic: Good for you!  Whack the disrespectful Spork person!  Not to promote sibling fighting or anything…

PearlGirl: I'm not fond of haunted houses myself.  But I've got it all solved for the future.  Just look at it the way Spock would!  I actually wrote that scene in my head while riding the ride, so everything is absolutely accurate.

Beedrill: I'm glad someone else likes Smallworld!  I always thought it was darling.  Everyone else apparently finds it annoying.  Oh well.  And it's good to know I'm doing something good and fighting obesity through laughter, lol!  And I will keep that conversation somewhere in the back of my mind.  We'll see.  And regarding Uhura, I couldn't have said it better.  I don't know her nearly as well as Kirk, Spock and McCoy, so it's much more difficult to write her into the plot.

Ael: you know, I think you've given me an idea about crossovers…see below.  And yes, do post the rest of Star Trekkies!  Really, stopping right in the middle is unpardonable.  And as for writer's block, I'm sure I would have too except that, for the most part, I've been starting a new story every chapter.

Grace: Glad to know you're still out there and still enjoying this!

RadarPLO: A new reader!  Or new reviewer.  Either way, welcome.  I dunno if I'm better than the show but…thanks!

Okay, ATTENTION ALL!  Anybody want in on a CAMEO, let me know, preferably by e-mail!  I've got an idea for one in a chapter or two that should be…interesting, to say the least.

Meanwhile, review!


	45. That Infamous Psych File

Disclaimer: Star Trek isn't mine.  Jones is.

I hope all you Jones fans are happy today.  It's been exactly a year, to the day, and McCoy finally got around to it…

Chapter Forty-Five:

That Infamous Psych File

When Kirk wandered into Sickbay one afternoon, he found it virtually deserted.  Only one person around, and he was fortunate because the one person was the same one he'd been coming to see anyway.  McCoy, naturally.  The good doctor was leaning back in a chair, feet up on a countertop, deeply engrossed in something on the PADD he was holding.

Kirk watched for a minute.  McCoy didn't seem aware that he was there.  He was too busy reading something off the PADD and looking mightily amused.

"Something is entertaining you, Bones?"

McCoy jumped, narrowly avoided tipping over his chair, and got his feet down on the floor with speed if not grace.  "Anybody ever tell you not to sneak up on people?"

"Anybody ever tell you to watch your back?  If I'd been a Romulan…"  Kirk shrugged eloquently.

McCoy rolled his eyes.  "Sure, Jim."

"Anyway, what _are_ you doing?  Reading a holonovel while you're supposed to be on duty?" Kirk suggested.

"This is completely within my job description," McCoy said defensively. "Honest."

"I _still_ don't know what you're doing," Kirk reminded him.

"Well…I've been meaning to look something up for months now, and I finally got around to it."  He held up the PADD.  "Jones' psych file.  I may finally be able to understand why that kid is the way he is.  Maybe."

"I didn't know you had something like that," Kirk said with new interest.

"Sure, I've got a file on everyone.  I don't always look at them, but they're around."

Kirk stepped closer and peered over McCoy's shoulder.  "So what's it say?"

McCoy put a hand over the screen.  "Didn't anyone ever tell you this sort of thing was confidential?"

Kirk gave him a look.  "I'm the _Captain_."

McCoy shrugged.  "Valid point.  But keep it to yourself, okay?"

"Sure," Kirk agreed absently, reading…

Name: Richard Samuel Jones

Rank: Ensign

Posting: U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701

Department: Security

Department Head: Lt. Cmdr. Gray

Date of Birth: 4/13/2243

Place of Birth: Nome, Alaska, United States, Earth

Personal History

Jones was born on April 13, 2243, in Alaska.  His father, Oliver Jones, is a marine biologist, specializing in sharks.  His mother, Cynthia Jones, runs a bakery.  Jones is an only child.

Jones attended school at Millard Fillmore Elementary School: 2248 to 2254.  He entered Jonathan Archer Junior High in 2254, to 2257.  Secondary education was accomplished at Nome High, 2257 to 2261.  In 2261 Jones entered Starfleet Academy, San Francisco, California, United States, Earth.  He graduated in 2265, and was immediately posted to the _U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701_.

As a child Jones was in Boy Scouts for three years, dropping out after a traumatic experience involving knot tying.  He entered the Pre-Academy Program, Security Division, in the summer of 2257.

Medical History

8/9/2243: treated for colic.

"At least we know his medical tendencies go way back," McCoy commented.

"No kidding," Kirk agreed.

11/20/2243: treated for earache.

1/14/2243: treated for earache.

5/30/2243: treated for the common cold.

"Excruciatingly detailed aren't they?" Kirk commented.

"This is the short version.  Doesn't mention treatments, doctor's names, hospital names…you should see the one's my nurses look at sometimes.  Want to skip a few years though?"

"Sure."

They scrolled down a ways.  When they realized how long it was, they decided maybe it would be best to just look at a few notes here and there.

8/27/2248: treated for influenza.

1/9/2249: broken leg set, after accident with a sled.

4/6/2249: broken wrist set.  Injury accounted to fall from a bush.

"A tree I can see, but a bush?"

"It's Jones.  Don't ask."

3/17/2252: lotion prescribed for rope burns after accident somehow involving knot tying.

7/8/2252: treated for shark bite.

11/12/2252: treated for incident with the melon.

            "Wouldn't you love to hear that story?"

"Sure.  _You_ can ask him sometime."

7/9/2257: treated for mild concussion following a fall from a cow.

Kirk and McCoy had to stop for a minute to laugh.  After which they took another look at the date and realized that Jones was only fourteen, and that maybe they'd better just skip the medical history and get to the psychological part.

Psych File of Jones, Richard Samuel

First Report of Samantha Nelson, Psychological Evaluator, Starfleet Academy

12/1/2261

I have recently begun my examination of Richard Samuel Jones, first-year cadet.  So far, I find him…challenging.  I pride myself on my ability to garner a great deal from a client in only one session.  I gathered very little information from Jones in our first meeting.  He entered, tripped over his chair, and had to be taken to the infirmary for medical treatment.  The only thing I gained from that was a determination to see if this clumsiness was a trend.

It is.  In our second meeting he somehow contrived to stab himself with a paperclip.  He was uninjured, but I have drawn a definite conclusion that things of this nature are habitual.  Paperclips aside, we had a somewhat more profitable second meeting.  I discovered that Jones has no particular desire to discuss his life with a psychiatrist.  He was decidedly uncomfortable on entering.  I attempted the traditional and practiced method of beginning with casual details of family and daily life to make him comfortable.  We never got into anything of more depth in our second meeting, but I believe that he was, at the very least, less uncomfortable.

As stated, I expect Jones to be…challenging.

Second Report of Samantha Nelson, Psychological Evaluator, Starfleet Academy

3/12/2262

In the past three months I have continued meeting intermittently with Jones.  Or rather, Sam.  I have yet to determine if there is any particular reason he goes by his middle name rather than his first name; when asked, he just said that Richard reminds him too much of Richard the Lion-Hearted, which seems like a lot to live up to.  I am thus far uncertain if he meant it sincerely.

Sam has grown far less uncomfortable in the past weeks, and I have found him to be a very rambling individual.  I've made remarkable progress understanding his thoughts by setting him on a topic and letting him talk.  He wanders, but that too can be educational.

Sam strikes me as a very nervous individual.  I have so far diagnosed him as having eight phobias.  The most obvious is Dystychiphobia, a fear of accidents.  He has mentioned that he has Acrophobia, a fear of heights.  I recently discovered that he has both Paraskavedekatriaphobia and Triskadekaphobia, after he canceled an appointment on Friday, the thirteenth of February.  I also suspect that he has Icthyophobia and Spectrophobia, fear of fish and fear of ghosts, respectively.  Finally, he has mentioned being uncomfortable in San Francisco, which I have traced to Nebulaphobia: fear of fog.

I hope that with further sessions I will be able to determine the exact reasons for these varying phobias.

Third Report of Samantha Nelson, Psychological Evaluator, Starfleet Academy

8/22/2263

In the last six months I have moved with almost distressing slowness.  Sam is not the easiest individual I have ever tried to understand.  I have made some progress I believe.

I have definitely observed that Sam has self-esteem issues, low confidence, and a strong desire to please authority figures.  Ordinarily, I would account this to difficulty with siblings, perhaps a feeling as a child that another sibling was favored.  Sam, however, is an only child.  I first observed this two months ago, and until recently was baffled regarding the cause.  I think I have finally made a breakthrough though.  It seems that while growing up he felt that favoritism was shown towards the family shark.  I do not pretend to understand how he came to this conclusion, but nevertheless it seems to have had profound effects on him.  This, and the fact that the shark once bit him, would also account for his fear of fish.

I also think I have found the source of his fear of heights.  After once breaking his wrist falling out of a bush, he is utterly convinced that going any higher would mean, in his words, doom.

Fourth Report of Samantha Nelson, Psychological Evaluator, Starfleet Academy

10/7/2263

I am continuing along the same lines I was following earlier, and have reinforced my earlier theories, without being able to make very many new ones.  I have finally reached a conclusion regarding Jones' clumsiness.  There is no reason.  He just is.  Medical swears it's not a physical matter, and I can find no psychological reason.  He's just clumsy.

In addition, I'm beginning to believe that his comment regarding Richard the Lion-Hearted was meant seriously.  He mentioned it again, and added that he's never heard of any King Sams.

Fifth Report of Samantha Nelson, Psychological Evaluator, Starfleet Academy

12/20/2263

I have been asked for a recommendation regarding Sam's suitability for a position as a security guard.  I have decided to mark him suitable.  Responsibility may improve his confidence levels, and exposure to potential dangers may dull his reactions to it.  And besides, all I can say is that he's a bit nervous and a lot clumsy, and how many security guards aren't one or the other or both?

Sixth Report of Samantha Nelson, Psychological Evaluator, Starfleet Academy

1/30/2264

After observing Sam for more than a year, I am coming to some final conclusions.  He is high-strung and nervous.  As to why, for the most part, he simply _is_.  I am quickly realizing that further sessions will accomplish very little.  These qualities are so deeply entrenched in Sam's personality that even locating the original causes would probably prove ineffective.  They have become so much a part of his psychology that a complete personality change would be necessary to remove them, and that simply seems excessive.  I am strongly considering ending the sessions, as they seem to be accomplishing little to nothing.

That was the last entry from Samantha Nelson, Psychological Evaluator, Starfleet Academy.

"Guess she decided they weren't accomplishing anything and gave them up," Kirk mused.

McCoy was chuckling.  "You know what happened?  He stumped her.  She tried, not very successfully, to write it out with fancy nonsense about entrenchments, but the fact is, she doesn't understand him either.  Jones is just…_Jones_.  I could've told her that, and without studying him for a year too."

"Yeah."  They sat in silence for a long moment, contemplating the Ensign.  "So…think you understand him now?" Kirk asked finally.

McCoy shook his head.  "No.  Not really."

"Good, me neither."

"You know, even though I don't understand him, I should probably add a note.  Now that I've looked at it and all."

"What are you going to put?"

"That the kid's nuts."

"You can't put that, Bones!"

"Okay.  He's got rotten luck, then."

"You can't put that either!"

"Sure I can.  Watch me."  McCoy picked up a stylus and went to work on an addition.

_Report of Leonard H. McCoy, CMO, USS Enterprise_

McCoy paused.  "You know what today is?"

"Absolutely noth—oh.  You're _asking_."

McCoy frowned at him.  "You're getting paranoid, Jim."

"I wonder why.  Anyway, it's the eighth of August."

"Thanks.

_8/8/2267_

_In my opinion as Chief Medical Officer and after observing Ensign Jones over the last year…_

"That sounds nice and professional, doesn't it?  Though mind you, I'm a doctor not a psychiatrist."

_…I have decided that he is a rather unique individual and therefore difficult to classify._

"In other words, the kid's nuts."

            "Bones…"

_…As a result, my conclusions are not entirely logical, but you cannot evaluate a man by logic alone._

            "Have to put that in, don't you?"

"Naturally."

_…My conclusion is almost mythological in nature.  Some people seem to go through life with unnaturally good fortune._

"I've never noticed that."

"Really?  I've known people like that.  People whose bluffs always work, whose hairbrain schemes never fail, who come out of absurdly dangerous situations without a scratch…"

            "Are you suggesting something, Bones?"

_…These individuals seem almost to have been born under a lucky star.  Jones wasn't.  In the final analysis, he's just a kid who's got rotten luck and knows it._

~~~***~~~

Cameos are still on, in about two chapters I think.  I've got about eight of you right now, it's not too late for anyone else!   This is going to be interesting…If you could e-mail with a few details like age and description that would be very helpful.  Well, I already know what some of you look like, and I guess some have it in your bio, but there's several I don't know a thing about, you probably know who you are.

Sukuru: Warning accepted, consider yourself in!  (A description would help, BTW)  And yes, giving Jones a sparkler wasn't very wise…

Silverfang: Silver…gotcha.  No description necessary here.  

Ael: Y'know it's funny.  Just a couple of days after I posted the last chapter it rained.  And in California too.  Guess it is tradition.  (And yeah, I know what you're like. ^_^)

Bug: There's lots of us insane Trekkies!  It's nice to have somewhere to congregate.

Bookey Hooper: Why are you apologizing?  I love all reviews!  Send more!

PearlGirl: Back from camp yet?  I need another random chapter of "Read This or Else!"

Beedrill: Oops.  I did mix up Denise's name.  Too many stories…  And what do you mean I might know you from Fanfiction?  Of course I know you!  A description would be useful though.

Happi Froggi: A new person reading.  Or reviewing.  Either way is good, welcome!

A.M.: I dunno, what's the tradition for Labor Day?  I don't think I've ever celebrated…now I'm curious.

Kiri: Congratulations on catching up!  I'm impressed at how fast you did it…  (No description needed here!)

Unrealistic: A Trekkie fic!  Go you!  Sounds funny, and yes, you can definitely borrow Jones.  Have you read Hunting Eggs, there's a Captain For a Day thing in it.  Not to suggest you copied or something, just noting.  Now why can't I have a cool dream like that?  In my dream last night I was dead, which wasn't as depressing as it sounds but it wasn't much fun either.  (Oh yeah, description needed, unless you really do prefer to be a guinea pig!)

Whatshername: Just taking this opportunity to bug you again about posting!  (I don't think I need a description, assuming I'm remembering Trek to Madworld right.  Whatever happened to that one?)

Emp: Did you recover from dying of laughter?  (And I don't need a description for you either…hmm, only a few after all)

One final note: If you're down for a cameo, I'm assuming I also have permission to use your stories.  Hehehe…don't worry, I won't kill anyone.


	46. Technical Difficulties

Disclaimer: Paramount.  No further comment.

Let's see what madness I can come up with today…heehee…

Chapter Forty-Six:

Technical Difficulties

Kirk fell into Sickbay.  He didn't walk, stride, or stroll.  He fell.  He'd been trying to lean back against the wall.  Instead he'd leaned back towards the door, which of course opened.  So Kirk fell into Sickbay.

He sprawled on the floor, legs in the doorway, and became reacquainted with the Sickbay ceiling.  For a moment, until someone leaned over him.

"Jim?" McCoy said, looking concerned.

Kirk said something vaguely like "erk" and scrambled to his feet.  He backed up against the door.  Which opened again.  Which sent him sprawling again, this time into the corridor.  He was quick to get up again.  "I'm okay," he said immediately.

The look McCoy was giving him made it very clear that the good doctor was doubtful.  "Are you sure?"

Kirk shook his head.  "No."  He ran a hand through his hair and squinted at McCoy.  "Are you sure you're you?"

McCoy put on his best expression of professional concern, took Kirk by the arm, and firmly steered him back into the Sickbay.  "We're going to have a little chat, Jim…"

"Yes, let's," Kirk agreed.  "I want to be certain you're really you."

"And…what makes you think I might _not_ be?"

"If you'd just seen seven of you go by, you wouldn't be sure either."

McCoy's eyes widened.  "You just saw…_seven_ of me?"

Kirk nodded.  "Seven.  In a pack.  Carrying phasers."

"We _really_ need to talk…"

Realization hit Kirk.  "Hey wait a minute, I'm not nuts!"

McCoy nodded.  "Of course not…"

"When the goose showed up, you said you'd believe me next time!"

"About a goose, yes, not about this," McCoy pointed out.

"I'm telling you, they were out there!" Kirk insisted.

"Jim, you're trying to make me believe that you just saw _seven _of me!"

Kirk started to argue.  But even he could see the absurdity of it.  He grinned a little sheepishly.  "I guess it does sound a little strange…"

McCoy nodded.  "Just a little."

"I don't know, maybe my eyes were playing tricks…"

"Maybe you're under too much—"

"—stress, I know," Kirk finished.  "Fine.  I was going towards the transporter room to beam down anyway."

"Maybe I'll come with you to the transporter room…see if we encounter any more multiples of me."

Kirk rolled his eyes.  "Funny, Bones."

"What?  I could use some extra hands around here…" McCoy said as they left Sickbay.

They got to the transporter room without seeing any more McCoys.  Or anything else unusual, for that matter.  Kirk beamed down.  McCoy hung around for a minute to talk to the transporter technician.  He was still there when Kirk requested beam-up, two minutes after beaming down.

"That was fast," McCoy commented, surprised.

Kirk had a very strange expression.  Somewhere between shock and terror.  "Yeah.  Well.  I wasn't exactly where I meant to be."

McCoy blinked.  "Where were you?"

"I don't know.  A run-down city, I think," Kirk said, stepping off the pad and heading for the door.

"A…run-down city?" McCoy repeated, following him out into the corridor.  Seemed like he was doing a lot of following today.

"Yeah.  It was strange.  It was a run-down city.  And there was a…woman there.  In a mask."

McCoy grinned.  "Maybe it's just me, but seems like in that case you'd _want_ to go there…"

"She wasn't my type!" Kirk snapped, and continued down the corridor.  

McCoy watched him go, a puzzled expression on his face.  "And here I thought Disneyland had done him some good," he said to himself.

We can be sure what McCoy was thinking.  McCoy was thinking that Kirk had lost some portion of his mind, possibly a large portion.  Kirk was more difficult to read, because even Kirk wasn't sure what Kirk was thinking.

Strange things were happening.  Maybe it was him.  But maybe not.  He didn't know.  But he knew there was something strange going on.  Of that there was no doubt.  On normal days he simply did not see seven McCoys, and then beam into cities with…a masked woman in them.  And he definitely didn't find huge mounds of jello around the corner.

But that's what he found around the corner.  Jello.  Lots of it.  He wasn't immediately aware of the amount of jello though.  Because his first encounter with the jello was in the form of a blob hitting him in the face as he turned the corner, which completely obscured his vision.

As he tried to wipe jello out of his eyes, he heard a vaguely familiar voice say, "Nice going.  First you press the button, then you hit the Captain with jello!" to which a voice that sounded somewhat like Kevin Riley responded with, "_Scatter_!"  By the time Kirk could see again, there was no one to see.  But there was a lot of orange jello.

Kirk stared at it for a moment.  Then he swallowed, stepped back around the corner, and called the maintenance team on the comm unit.

"Maintenance here, is there a problem?"

"Yes, there's a rather large mess on Deck 3, Corridor G."  Kirk peered back around the corner, not quite believing he'd really seen a room's worth of jello.  "There seems to be a lot of…"  It was gone.  "Um…never mind…"

Strange things.  Strange things indeed.  Maybe he'd go to the bridge.  Yes, that was a good idea.  He'd go to the bridge.

It was a good idea, and he tried to carry it out.  But the nearest turbolift was by Sickbay, and halfway there he encountered something else.  Which is why shortly after that he rushed into Sickbay.

"Bones, you have to come with me, you're not going to believe this!"

"What am I not going to believe?" McCoy asked cautiously, as Kirk pulled him out into the corridor.  "Did you see more of me?"

"No.  I saw a dragon."

McCoy came to an abrupt halt.  "You _what_?"

"A dragon, I saw a dragon, now come _on_!"

"What…kind of dragon?" McCoy asked carefully, consenting to be dragged along.

"A dragon!  Seven feet tall, wings, dark eyes, bronze colored, his name's Cobalt," Kirk snapped out.

"_Is_ it?" McCoy said with exaggerated interest.

"Yes.  He's right around this…bend…"

The corridor was empty.

"He was here.  I swear," Kirk said numbly.

"Riiight…listen, about studying your brain waves…"

"I'm not losing my mind!"

"Now, now, I'm the doctor, let me decide that…"

Kirk paced furiously up and down the corridor.  "I don't understand it, I do _not_ understand it, but something strange is…"  His head snapped up.  "Wait a minute.  It's not August Fool's Day or something, is it?"

McCoy blinked.  "_What_ day?"

Kirk shrugged.  "I don't know, all I know is the last time something like this happened it was April Fool's Day."

"Well it's not me, if that's what you're thinking."

"Great," Kirk muttered.  "There's something _else_ going on."

"Y'know, Jim, I _really_ think…"

"I'm going to the bridge," Kirk said shortly, and headed for the turbolift.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" McCoy asked, following him.  (There he went.  Following again.  What was it with him following Kirk today?)

"I'm positive!" Kirk snapped, stepping into the turbolift.  It closed before McCoy could do anything, leaving him outside looking at the closed door with a troubled expression.

*  *  *

The turbolift doors opened again, and Kirk stepped out on the bridge.  Surely nothing strange could happen on the bridge, right?  And even if it did, there'd be witnesses, which would solve half the problem.

Kirk crossed the bridge to the command deck, sat down in his chair, and for about five minutes everything was normal and nothing at all happened.  And then Spock's voice came from the back of the bridge, requesting his attention.

"Well, Mr. Spock, what is it?" Kirk asked, turning his chair as he spoke.

"An object, Captain. Beyond that I am unable to determine. It is almost too small for our sensors to pick up at this distance, but it appears to have been emitted by the white hole," Spock explained.

No one on the bridge questioned where a white hole had come from.  Not even Kirk.

"Alter our course towards it, Mr. Sulu. Drop to impulse," Kirk ordered, turning back to the front of the bridge.

Spock probably would have given a time to intercept, and it probably would have been somewhere around half an hour, but that wasn't to be.  The comm unit buzzed, requesting that Mr. Spock report to Sickbay.  Spock was mystified as to the reason, but nevertheless stood up and started to cross to the turbolift.  He stopped at Kirk's voice.

"He wants to talk to you because he thinks I've gone insane," Kirk said without inflection, still looking directly at the viewscreen.

Spock blinked.  "And what has led the Doctor to this conclusion?"

Kirk opened his mouth to answer.  Shut it again.  How was he going to explain clones and a strange—let's be honest, _frightening_—woman in a mask, and jelly, and dragons?  He wasn't.  Kirk shrugged.  "Better let him try to explain it, I don't understand it either."

There was a pause.  "I see," Spock said finally, lying through his teeth, then crossed to the turbolift.

*  *  *

"Doctor, this does not make sense," Spock said, for at least the third time.

"Did I say it makes sense?" McCoy demanded.  "All I know is, that's what happened."

They were in McCoy's office.  Discussions regarding the Captain's sanity are not generally made in public.

"I hardly find it credible that the Captain has lost his mind," Spock said, just a little sharply.

"You mean you don't want to believe it of Jim, but saying that is too emotional," McCoy countered.

"I do not find it credible," Spock maintained.

"Look, I don't like it either, but the fact is he came in here raving about clones!  And then it was something about a woman in a mask, and then some nonsense about _dragons_.  What's it sound like to you?"

"I have no explanation," Spock admitted.  "Which does not mean there is not a plausible one."

"I hope so, Spock, I really do.  In the meantime…"

"With no further data, there is nothing to do but watch."

*  *  *

The turbolift hissed, and Spock reentered the bridge.  He went directly to his own station, and did not meet Kirk's eye.  Kirk shrugged, and went back to looking at the viewscreen.  Minutes ticked by and they drew closer to that magic half-hour number that had never been raised but somehow everyone knew anyway.  31 minutes, 8 seconds after the issue of the object and the white hole came up, Spock broke the silence on the bridge.

"Captain, we have reached the object. It appears—"  Spock paused for a heartbeat.  You decide if it was a Vulcan heartbeat or a human heartbeat.  "It appears to be a body."

"A body?  What kind of a body?"

"Humanoid, approximately 5 ft 3 inches, enclosed in an EVA suit that ran out of oxygen 3.96 days ago. I cannot ascertain more without closer analysis, but it appears the suit was punctured—"

"That's enough," Kirk said with a grimace.  "Have it beamed aboard, and get a medical team down to the transporter room."

"Yes, Captain."

Things were quiet on the bridge for a little while after that.  Somewhere below them there was activity in the transporter room, but that was somewhere below them, not on the bridge.  The bridge was quiet.  Until the comm buzzed.

Kirk flipped the switch.  "Bridge."

McCoy's voice came uncertainly over the line.  "Uh, Jim?"

Kirk picked up on his tone immediately.  "Something wrong, Bones?"

"Well…I'm not sure.  But there's something…strange."

Kirk knew there was an eyebrow rising somewhere behind him.  He didn't bother turning to check.  "Strange how?"

"Well, uh…I think you better come down to the transporter room."

"On my way."  Kirk flipped off the comm, nodded to Spock, and they both headed for the turbolift.

*  *  *

They arrived at the transporter room quickly, entered quickly, and stopped abruptly.  It had indeed been a body that they beamed aboard, and it was currently on the transporter pad.  Dressed in an EVA suit, helmet removed, it was obviously dead.  Had been for a while.  Its face was turned towards them.  Distorted though it was from space and death, its features were recognizable.

It was Kirk's face.

McCoy and three medics were present, rather far away from the body, looking stunned.  Spock's eyebrows climbed up into his hairline and vanished.  Kirk just looked smug.

"Strange, isn't it?" Kirk said.  Smugly.  "Very strange.  But not much stranger than clones.  Or dragons.  Or—"

"Okay, Jim.  You're not nuts," McCoy said.  "You might be dead, but you're not nuts."

"Thank you.  Anyone want to bet me dinner that if we all walked out, then came back, the body would be gone?" Kirk asked brightly.

No one cared to bet, but they did agree to try it.  They all walked out.  They all came back.  The transporter room was empty.

"Where'd it go?" one of the medics asked a little wildly.  "It couldn't just walk out on its own!"

No one answered him.

Kirk walked over to the comm unit on the wall and called the bridge, to ask if they were still near a white hole.  They weren't.  Kirk turned back to those present in the transporter room.  "Department heads, briefing room.  Now."

Why?  Because he always calls a department heads meeting, remember?

*  *  *

"Maybe we've all gone crazy," Kirk said, in a tired sort of way.  They'd been going around in circles for…well, he'd lost track of the time, but for a long while, and all they had was what they'd started with.  There was something strange going on.

"That is not entirely unreasonable," Spock commented.  "A mass delirium, perhaps.  The cause, however, is currently undefined."

"You mean we might all be nuts, but you don't know why?" McCoy clarified.

"It started with me," Kirk said, before Spock could say anything in response to McCoy.  "But why?  Why did I see multiple strange things, before anyone else saw anything?"

"Random chance, perhaps," Spock suggested.  "Or the whim of whatever is causing this."

"The whim of…"  Kirk's eyes widened.  "That's it."

McCoy frowned.  "What's it?"

"This is too strange to be easily explained.  This is completely _incoherent_!"

It started to dawn on McCoy.  "Incoherent.  You mean…coherency is overrated, and all that?  You mean…"

"Exactly.  This is the fault of our lovely fanfiction writer," Kirk said grimly.

"Our who, Captain?" Uhura questioned.

"Our writer.  And I'm betting she's behind this."

"What do you propose doing about it?" Spock asked.

"I don't know, but I want to discuss this."

"How are you going to get her attention?" McCoy asked, pointing out the flaw in the plan.

"Very easily.  TAVIA!" Kirk shouted.

And in a gap that hadn't been there before across from Kirk, another person joined the table.  Me.  I frowned at Kirk.  "Who do you think I am, Khan?  You didn't have to shout.  Asking politely would have worked just as well."

"Next time, I was in a hurry."

"_You're_ in a hurry?  How do you think _I_ feel?   I don't have time for this, you know, I'm supposed to be writing a history essay." (I am.  I'll do it after lunch.)

"That's nice," Kirk said impatiently.  "Now about our problem—"

"I thought it was August," McCoy interrupted.

Kirk blinked at him.  "What does that have to do with _anything_?"

McCoy shrugged.  "I'm just wondering why she has a history essay to write in August."

"Who cares?" Kirk said bluntly.

"And to think you're supposed to be a diplomat," I commented disapprovingly.

Kirk gave me a look of absolute exasperation.  I ignored it, and so did McCoy.

"So why _are_ you writing an essay in August?" he asked me.

I shrugged.  "AP History class.  We actually have to do stuff over the summer."

"Kind of defeats the point of vacation, doesn't it?"

Kirk was drumming his fingers on the table.

"It's not that bad…a pain and a nuisance, but not that bad.  And I kind of like history.  Although it's funny, regardless of topic, essays are never even half as interesting as fiction writing—"

Kirk jumped on it.  "Fiction writing!  Let's talk about that."

I decided that maybe we'd better.  Kirk was starting to get one of those Looks.  One of those "Run, preferably at high warp" Looks.  "Okay.  What do you want to talk about?"

"Oh, lots of things.  Jelly.  Clones.  Dragons."

"Not my fault," I protested.

"Woman in masks."

"My fault," I admitted.

"Dead bodies."

"Definitely not my fault."

"What do you mean not yours, it's your story!"

I nodded.  "True.  But they're not mine.  I'm not the one writing the complete incoherency."  (Well, I am.  But for the sake of the story I'm not.  You know what I mean, right?)

Kirk stared at me.  "What do you mean you're not writing it?"

"I didn't write it in."

"But where did it come from?!"

I shrugged.  "Beats me."

I think I rendered him slightly speechless.  Which hasn't happened since chapter six.  In any case, Spock picked up the conversation.

"You state that you are not responsible for the strange events occurring."

"Right.  Not quite like that, but I did state that."

"But do you have any explanation for what may be responsible?"

I hesitated.  "Well…first let me ask, do any of you kind of…remember the things that have been happening?  Like they've happened before?"

They thought about it.

"Now that you mention it…kind of," McCoy admitted.

"Like a dream or something," Kirk agreed.

I nodded.  "Thought so.  See, I recognize the stuff that's been happening.  But I didn't write it.  Other people did."

"You're not making sense," Kirk informed me.

"Do you remember, let's see, chapter…11, I think?  When you went on Fanfiction.net."

"Right.  And I kept dying.  So what?"

"So that's where the clones and the jello and everything else are coming from.  Other postings.  I think the stories are overlapping, and elements from other stories are bleeding in."

They considered this.

"A fascinating proposition.  Do you have an idea regarding the cause of this sudden intermingling of stories?" Spock asked.

I grinned.  "Well, it's just a guess, but I'm betting Fanfiction is ill again."

Spock's eyebrow rose.  "Websites do not suffer from medical ailments."

"This one does," I informed him.  "They need Bones desperately."

"I'm a doctor, not a web designer," McCoy put in.

"Okay, they need Scotty.  Whatever.  The point is, FF breaks all the time, and this is probably more of the same.  Except usually the website fails to respond.  And this time its getting stories mixed up."

"Fine, so the stories are overlapping and elements from other stories are popping up here, and we're blaming it on Fanfiction," Kirk summed up.  "Now what are you going to do about it?"

"What am _I_ going to do?  _You're_ the captain."

"I fight Klingons.  I don't deal with websites.  That's a writing issue."

Hard to argue that.  "Valid point."  I considered.  "Well…I have an idea.  But I think I'm going to need reinforcements…"

Cameos next chapter!  After I get back from vacation.  Yeah, yeah, another vacation.  Friend's wedding.  They unfortunately live a long way off.  I will probably be writing the next chapter on the plane.

I have no time.  It's either reply to reviews and don't post, or don't reply to reviews and post.  I'm going to post.  If I get a chance tomorrow morning before we leave I'll write up responses and replace the chapter.  If not, see you all next week!


	47. Somewhere on FFnet

Disclaimer: Is it possible to own real people, in the literary sense of the term?  I don't think so.  And as the majority of characters parading through here are actual people someplace on this planet, I don't own anybody.  There's a certain satisfaction in being able to say that Paramount doesn't own them either.

This was the slowest growing chapter I have ever written.  Don't ask me why, it was interesting and all, but slow.  Anyway, it's here now.

I had no idea there were so many people who would want cameos.  That's okay, the more the merrier.  This is going to run several chapters, I think…

Chapter Forty-Seven:

Somewhere on FF.net

The briefing room table holds, I believe, ten, at a stretch.  We fit twenty-three.  How?  Simple.  We rewrote the table.  Easy when you know how.  And when you've got fifteen writers on hand, we knew how.  We also outnumbered the Starfleet personnel two to one.

I had claim on a seat at one end of the table.  It _was_ my story, you know, minor privilege.  Kirk had the seat at the opposite end, being the captain and all.  In between was a lot of activity, people chattering back and forth and up and down.  More on my end of the table, the Starfleet officers being slightly more subdued.  Things settled down eventually, you can't chatter forever.  Well, you _can_, but there was business to get to also.

"So, everybody know everybody else?" I asked.

The general answer was more or less.  More on the part of the writers, less on the part of the Star Trek characters.  They knew, but vaguely.  Introductions seemed reasonable.

I started with the girl on my left, sixteen, blonde hair, freckles.  "First off, this is…I've lost track, you tell me."

She grinned.  "Ensign Expendable."

I shrugged.  "If you say so."

"Let's see, I write lots of stories, some Star Trek, some not.  The clones are mine…and the dead body."

Kirk took new interest.  "You're the one who killed me?  How do I resurrect?"

She looked faintly guilty.  "I, ah, haven't finished it."

"You haven't _finished_ it?  I'm lying dead on a transporter pad, and you haven't _FINished_ it?!"

"I don't finish many…"

"I _know_," I said sourly.

"Heh, heh…"

"Moving on…next to her is EmpressLeia."

She was about fifteen, long brown hair.  "Or you could shorten it to Emp, lot of people do.  Trekkie, Warsie…"

"Only person I've ever heard use the term Warsie," I put in.

"Really?"

"I don't know many Star Wars fans though.  Next to her is Ael.  Or Admiral Danks."

Also brown hair, but a year or two older, with glasses.  "Ael is fine.  I speak Vulcan and Romulan, and I write a lot of stories on here.  And I finish them.  Some of them."

Kirk was looking at her with a puzzled expression.  "I have the funniest feeling I know you from somewhere…"

An eyebrow rose—not Spock's.  Ael's—and for just a moment she looked uncannily Vulcan.  Kirk blinked, and the moment passed.

"Call me crazy," Kirk said uneasily, "but are we related?"

She smiled enigmatically.  "It's a long story."

And a very good story, but it's got its own spot on Fanfiction and this wasn't it.  "Meanwhile, next to her is Shameeka…or is it Sukuru now?"

Another brunette, a couple years younger though.  "Sukuru, I guess.  I like TOS, anime, the color blue…I'm really boring."

"Which probably isn't true," I threw in.

"Oh yeah, the jello was mine."

"Why was there jello on my ship?" Kirk asked, then put up a staying hand.  "No, don't tell me, I don't want to know."

"Wise decision.  Next to the girl with the jello we find Silver."

Still another brunette.  (If you've been counting, that makes five out of six, counting me.)  Silver was the oldest so far, at about eighteen.  "I'm Silverfang's muse.  Mostly I handle Zelda fics, but this looked interesting."

"A muse?  Really?  Maybe you could talk to mine.  She gets lost a lot.  I think she might be somewhere near my algebra book…"

That received a ripple of laughter, but no particular response, as the flow of conversation was interrupted by Chekov.  "I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?  Ensign something?"

"Stargazer."

He frowned, puzzled.  "Are you sure?  I thought…"

"Don't ask, just accept it," I advised.  "Next is Beedrill."

A blonde.  Dark blonde, some might even call it brown, but I'm told that it's blonde.  "Well, I'm either a seventeen year old human female, who's a Star Trek, Dragon Ball Z, SpongeBob fan, or I'm a giant bee.  Take your pick."

Spock's eyebrow climbed.  "You do not appear to have the physiological structure of a giant bee."

"Guess I must be human then."

"Precisely what would lead one to believe that you are a giant bee?"

"That's what a beedrill is, didn't you know?"

"Fascinating," Spock said faintly.

"And after that strange interlude," I cut in, borrowing a phrase ("strange interlude" if you're unsure which) from the Marx Bros., "we get to Hanakin.  Formerly Nevfennasiel."

An unequivocally non-brunette at last.  Red hair, hazel eyes, and freckles.  "Well, I'm sixteen.  I like Star Trek, of course.  Also the color pink, cats, and coffee with French vanilla creamer and sugar.  And I don't know why I'm telling you that, but I guess I'll toss it out there."

"Random is good," I said firmly.  "Anyway, next down the line is Nurse Chapel, and then the rest of the Starfleet group, and since we all know them I guess we'll start over at this end again.  On my right we find Kiri of Gondor."

Another non-brunette.  A blonde.  "Hi…I don't actually post Star Trek stories, I write original fantasy on Fictionpress, but I like this story so I'm here anyway.  And I'm Tavia's cousin."

"Nepotism, you know.  After her we've got Alania.  Followed by PearlGirl."

More brunettes (two).  Brown hair, blue eyes, glasses and braces.  "We're sisters," Alania said, "We co-wrote 'Read This or Else,' and we've each written some stories on our own."

"Yeah, but I've written more," PearlGirl said.

"Quality over quantity."

For once it was McCoy, rather than Kirk, who interrupted an argument by asking something.  "I have to ask, are you two twins?"

"No, I'm fourteen, she's thirteen," Alania said, "but everyone thinks we look alike.  Her hair's poofier."

"My hair is not poofy!"

"If you can't tell, they argue a lot," I commented.  "After them is A.M."

"An unusual name," Spock commented.

"It's my initials," she explained.

"Ah.  I thought perhaps there was some connection to morning; a.m. and p.m."

"Wonder what those stand for anyway," McCoy said idly, then realized what he had said.  "No, don't—"

Too late.  "Ante Meredium and Post Meredium."

McCoy groaned.  "Why do you know these things, Spock?"

I already knew the answer to that one.  Because he's Spock.  So I felt no qualms about interrupting.  "Anyone else feel like this is a completely random divergence?"

"Yes, actually," A.M. commented.

"Okay, we'll move on.  Next to A.M. is Me."

"No, you are at the end of the table," Spock corrected, his eyebrow rising as though with a mind of its own.

"No, she means me," the man next to A.M. explained.

"Right," I agreed.  "He's Me."

Spock looked at both of us.  His eyebrow climbed a little higher.  "I do not think so."

"Maybe you better just call me Doug," he said.

"That's probably easiest," I agreed.  "That's Doug."

He was greeted with a fair bit of enthusiasm.  "I was beginning to think our lives were completely in the hands of teenage girls," was Kirk's take on it.

"Actually, I don't post any original Star Trek stories."

"Our lives _are_ completely in the hands of teenagers," Kirk said bleakly.

"What, don't you like us?"

"I'm not sure.  I just remembered that you're all the ones who keep killing me off."  He frowned suddenly, looking puzzled.  "And I can't figure out why I can't remember your name."

"Starseeker."

"I don't know…anyway, I _do_ remember you're one of the ones who keeps killing me.  A whole lot of you seem to regard it as a favorite theme!"

"You're exaggerating your own importance again," Emp told him.

"We don't all kill you.  I never have," Ael pointed out.  "I've just…done a lot of other things to you…"

"See?  See?  You're all out to get me!"

"We are not," I said.  "And anyway, it's just…'Favorite Character Mutilation Syndrome,' isn't that what you called it, Emp?  Translated, we only do it because we love you."

"Yeah, but a lot of us love Bones more," Hanakin pointed out.

"Really?"  That was the faintly surprised reaction from McCoy.

"_Really_?"  That was the faintly displeased reaction from Kirk.

"Yeah.  So why don't we kill him off?" she continued.

"Some of us do."

"Don't even _go_ there," I warned her.  "That's _still_ only just barely forgivable."

"Can we talk more about this mutilation thing?" Kirk requested uneasily.

"No, we have to finish figuring out who's here and what we're going to do about FF.  We can do random conversation tangents later.  Next in line is Wedge."

More brown hair, but somehow referring to a guy as a brunette (or even a brunet, which Webster's says is correct) doesn't sound right.  Anyway, brown hair, turquoise eyes, glasses.  "Full name's WedgeAntilles…also one at the end, but that's FF's fault and doesn't really count.  I write a lot of Star Wars, but I've done some Trek too.  And I don't like describing myself, so that's all."

"Okay, that's everyone, let's get down to business," Kirk said briskly.

"Wait a minute," I interrupted, "there's two more."

Kirk took a better look at who was sitting next to Wedge.  "Someone please explain to me," he requested, "why there's a guinea pig at the table."

"Hello!" the guinea pig said brightly.

"That's Unrealistic," I explained.

"I quite agree," Spock put in.  "A talking guinea pig is not realistic."

"No, no, she's not unrealistic, she _is_ Unrealistic."

"That is a contradictory statement," Spock observed.

"It's really very simple."  I grinned.  Who can resist teasing Spock when the opportunity is presented?  Not me.  "The guinea pig's Unrealistic, Who's on first, and What's the name of the guy on second."

Spock blinked.  "I don't know."

"_Third base_!" at least half the writers chorused.

"Didn't you ever see Abbot and Costello?" Emp asked.

"Who?" Spock asked, mystified.

"First base," I said immediately.  "They're comedians."

"The first baseman is a comedian?"

"Can we get back to the point?" Kirk demanded.  "Why is there a talking guinea pig at the table?"

"What they've been trying to get across is that my name is Unrealistic," the guinea pig explained.  "I volunteered to be Tavia's guinea pig."

"Yeah, and are you sure you wouldn't rather be human?" I asked.

"It would probably would be more fun, true."  And because, of course, it's a story and doesn't necessarily have to make perfect physical sense (and I always hated physics anyway) she immediately morphed into a human female, sixteen, blonde.  "Okay, that's better.  Well, I've only posted one original Trek story, so mostly I'm just here for kicks."

"Who are you planning to kick?" Spock asked.

"Ideally?  Picard."

"Hey!"  That outraged exclamation apparently came out of thin air.

Unrealistic sighed.  "That would be my annoying brother.  He wanted in on this, remember?"

"Oh yeah, he did, didn't he?"  Immediately a boy, fourteen, blonde hair and tall, appeared at the table between Unrealistic and Sulu.  "Presto.  Quantum Maniac."

"And I have no idea why he's here," Unrealistic muttered.

"I'm here in case Picard and his crew shows up.  Can't let you have all the fun.  And of course," he added with a broad grin, "I had to come meet _Spork_!"

The Eyebrow rose.  "Spork?"

"SPORK?!" the outraged cry rose from all other writers present.

"Don't insult Spockie!" Alania snapped.

The Eyebrow continued it's upward trajectory.  "Spockie?"

"Wow, did I hit a few nerves?" Quantum asked.

That was met by more outraged rumblings.  I think we very easily could have had our first murder of the story.  And I was half inclined to go along with it.  But there is one thing that's more important, even than taking vengeance on people who call Spock 'Spork.'  "Hey, people, G-rating!  Kill him in your own story, can we keep mine blood-free?"

I don't think it would have worked.  I don't think they would have listened to me, and if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.  But fortunately for Quantum, the briefing room doors opened at that moment, a random red-shirt stuck his head in, shouted, "There's a giant purple swirly thing outside!" and immediately left again.  This was sufficient reminder that we still had stories overlapping and something needed to be done.  Quantum could be killed later.

"So…what are you going to do?" Kirk asked the writers in general.

"FF usually fixes itself…eventually," Emp offered.

"Sure, but in the meantime I'm lying dead on a transporter pad, six McCoys are walking around—"

"Potentially more than a hundred," the author of that story put in.

"—jello is filling the corridor, and there's a giant purple swirly thing outside!"

"I have an idea," I said.  "That's why I needed reinforcements, because I can't do it myself.  It seems to me that we've got a pretty good percentage of the Trekkies on FF here, so much of the elements that show up should belong to one or another of us, or at the very least we'll be familiar with it.  For everyone who doesn't write Trek, there's no reason to assume non-Star Trek elements won't be turning up, maybe because their writers also happen to be Trekkies, I don't know.  Anyway, I don't pretend to understand the technology of it, but if we downloaded or uploaded or sideloaded or whatever our own stories when they turn up, that would get them back into our control and hopefully maintain some kind of order around here until FF fixes itself."

The group considered.

"Not unreasonable, but there are gaping defects in your logic."

"Thanks, Spock, that's sweet of you."

"I fail to see how it is 'sweet' to offer constructive—"

"It's my story, it doesn't have to be logical," I interrupted him.  "So what's everyone else think?"

There was a general murmur of agreement, with a few phrases such as 'can't hurt,' 'could be fun,' and 'let's try it' scattered throughout.

            I beamed.  "Great!"

"So how are you planning to organize this?" Kirk asked.  "Have everyone wander the corridors and watch for elements of their own stories?"

"Yep.  All we need are laptops and guides.  So who do you guys want to wander around the Enterprise with?"

So…who do you want to wander around the Enterprise with?  Two or three possibilities please, I'm expecting a run on McCoy, Spock and Kirk (in that order), but I'll do my best to accommodate everyone.  I make no promises though.  

Hope you liked the chap!  ^_^  I know it was actually fairly sane.  That will change, and soon…

And in reply:

Taskemus: Thanks, I thought it was kinda unique!  And yes, a whole year.  Don't know where the time goes.  The title of that I stole from a really, really sad song…about how wonderful it was and now it's gone…sniff.

Ael: Dragonsez.  Snicker.  This reaction seems to indicate that they should come back…

AliciaF: I kinda like the labor day idea, but I'm once again in the middle of an arc.  Next year!

AgentWebb: It's amazing.  Everyone loves Jones and pink tribbles, lol.

Broken Infinity: Spock is fun, isn't he?  Esp when confused…

Silverfang: FF's screws up all the time…today included.  So I think it deserves these chapters! : )

Solidchristian-88: Of course it's ridiculous.  What else would it be?

PearlGirl: Actually, it wasn't a first for Spock.  Check the end of "Technically Speaking."  Glad you enjoyed the chaps.

Alania: Yes, I think the self-esteem has been boosted…

Sukuru: Nooo, not the first time.  And thank you, I had a very nice time!

Unrealistic: Always happy to boost other people's confidence!  And it was a good story.

Hanakin: I don't think you're the only one whose family thinks they're crazy…

Whatshername: I have the feeling you enjoyed this…

Wedge: Doug Adams?  Really?  Cool.

A.M.: I either lost or didn't get a description from you!  I blame AOL.  Either way I need one!

And now I'm done and posting!


	48. Wandering the Enterprise

Missing: I seem to have lost the deed giving me the copyright to Star Trek.  If you happen to find it, please send it to me.  I'll send you a fluorescent tribble as a reward!

I know, I know…it's been a long time, right?  Well, I have the great good (or possible mis) fortune of being a junior this year.  I don't know about at your school (for those of you who are in school), but at my school they say that junior year is the hardest.  They're right.  But here it is, at last, the long-awaited chapter.  I did my best with matching writers to characters, everybody got one of their choices…  I had to draw out a chart to keep track of everything…who's with who, who wrote what story that will be turning up/has turned up, who has had a scene so far…  Because there are so many of you, not everyone has a scene this chapter.  Believe me, there is much still to come…in between the history and biology homework, of course.

Chapter Forty-Eight:

Wandering the Enterprise

"So…who do you want to wander the _Enterprise_ with?"

That was the signal for crazed fandom to take over.  The characters had no say in the matter.  But when the dust settled, things were actually fairly even.

Ael and I laid claim on Kirk.  Emp (who is actually a blonde; I blame the mix-up on Fanfiction) and another girl latched onto McCoy; he asked her name, received Rihannsu for an answer, and didn't even try to understand it.  Alania claimed "Spockie," and was glaring daggers at Quantum, who had managed to find one original Trek character he liked in Scotty.  Also attached to Spock were Beedrill and Alicia.  Alicia used to be A.M., who is, incidentally, a brunette.  I blame the confusion over her name on Fanfiction.  Unrealistic, Doug and Wedge were talking to Sulu and Chekov, while Sukuru was making plans to look up Kevin Riley.  Hanakin was deep in conversation with Nurse Chapel, and had Spock been human the looks they were giving him would have made him very nervous.

And so things stood when the doors opened and in came a fairly non-descript, brown haired ensign in a brilliant red shirt.

"Captain, Captain!  There's a dragon loose in the Mess Hall!  With teeth and claws and teeth and scales and teeth and wings and tee—"  He tripped over a chair and banged his head against the table.  He sat up, rubbing his forehead.  "Ouch."

The writers drew an immediate conclusion; in my story, a red-shirted ensign who could blend with every other red-shirted ensign on the ship, who had just tripped.  Only one person it could be.  A delighted chorus rose.  "_Jones_!"

Jones was immediately converged on by twelve to fifteen people.  He was rather surprised.  So was Kirk.

"What just happened?" Kirk asked, confused.

"Well, let me see if I've got it straight," McCoy mused.  "They like me better than you, but they like Jones better than either of us."

"There's something inherently wrong in that," Kirk muttered.  "Red-shirts do _not_ preempt captains."

"On the contrary, Captain, it appears that—"

"Spock…"

Spock stopped talking.

Things settled out eventually, and we returned to our original guide choices.  With the two exceptions of Kiri and PearlGirl, who were willing to run the risk of doom to wander the _Enterprise_ with Jones.  Jones, incidentally, had not the faintest idea what was going on, but he did know that there was a dragon in the Mess Hall.  With teeth.

"Yes, what is _that_ about?" Kirk wanted to know.

"Depends on whose dragon it is," Ael answered.

"Sounds like mine," I mused.  "Teeth and claws and teeth and scales and teeth."

"Yours or mine, let's go check it out."

"Agreed."

"Mind if we come?" Emp asked.

"Sure, it'd be fun," I said.

"Great!  Because if it is Ael's dragons, there's got to be some way to teach them my name.  Karin's not _that_ hard to say."

"'Karin?'"  McCoy frowned.  "Did you just change names?"

"No, it's still EmpressLeia, it doesn't change.  Unlike _some_ people."

"Speaking of which, what was your name again?" Kirk asked the girl on McCoy's other side, injecting himself into the conversation with great ease.

She grinned.  "Caprice."

"There's something I'm not understanding here," Kirk muttered.

He might have pursued the subject then and there, but instead was distracted by the arrival of Kevin Riley.

"Thought I'd come and let you know, there's still a giant purple swirly thing outside," Riley explained.  "Are you doing anything about it?"

"Oh yeah, that," Kirk muttered.

"Riley!" Sukuru said gleefully, and latched onto his arm.  "Want to show me around the _Enterprise_?"

He shrugged.  "Sure.  Has to be a lot more interesting than sitting on the bridge alone while everyone else has a department heads meeting without me."

"Great!  Come on, let's go download the swirly thing."  Claiming a laptop off the table, they headed out the door.

Kirk made a valiant effort at getting some kind of order.  "All right, so much for the purple swirly thing.  Bones and I, and Ael, Tavia, Emp and the girl whose name I still can't remember—"

"Contrarywise," she put in.

"—what she said, are going to deal with the dragon.  Everyone else going to…wander?"

That was the plan.  And, as it was my story and some things are fairly dependable, it seemed likely that Spock, and therefore Alania, Alicia and Beedrill, would probably come along, as the trio tended to stick together.  After that very long sentence, let me explain why it didn't happen.

It was all because of the security guard who poked his head in the door.  A non-descript guy in a red shirt with a panicked expression.  There seemed to be many of them.  "There's a rampaging robot running amok in the arboretum!"

Alania and PearlGirl exchanged a somewhat guilty look.

"What kind of stories are you people writing?" Kirk demanded of the group in general.  "Don't good things _ever_ happen to us?"

No one answered the question.  What answer was there to that, anyway?

"Did the robot have a little red button on it?" PearlGirl asked the red-shirt.

"How do I know, I didn't stop to check!"

"We better check that out," Alania decided.

Consequently, Alania and PearlGirl and therefore Kiri, Beedrill, Alicia, Spock and Jones left for the arboretum, the writers picking up laptops on their way out the door.  After that everyone cleared out quickly.  For one reason or another everyone went off one direction or another, off to deal with Fanfiction's latest break down.  We, meaning the people Kirk listed earlier, headed for the Mess Hall.

*  *  *

Kirk was having a rough day.  You may have noticed that.  I did, anyway.  Earlier, that is.  I wasn't paying particular attention to him at this moment though.  He wasn't being neglected though.  He was talking to Ael, and getting himself thoroughly confused.  Or confuzzed, whichever word you like better.

"Now wait a minute…you're human, right?" Kirk asked.

Ael nodded.  "More or less."

He blinked.  "How can you be more or less human?  This isn't really a halfway deal.  Well, maybe it is…I suppose Spock is more or less human, not that he'd admit it.  But anyway, how can _you_,from the 21st century,be more or less human?"

"We'll avoid answering that and just say that yes, I'm human."

"Okay.  That's good.  That explains why you don't have pointed ears.  Now explain to me why you _do_ have pointed ears out of the corner of my eye!"

"Well…would you believe me if I said that it's all because I was beamed up while wearing a Vulcan costume at a Star Trek convention, genetically altered into a Vulcan, taken on as a member of your crew with six other Trekkies, and in the distant future I'll be the captain of a starship named the _U.S.S. Star Trek_, with all six Trekkies, plus seven more and a couple dragons?"

"Not really."

She shrugged.  "Can't explain then."

He sighed.  "Maybe I'm going crazy."

"Maybe," she agreed.

"I am _not_ going crazy!" he objected.

"Make up your mind!"

"You weren't supposed to give credence to the suggestion!"

"I don't know though…it runs in the family, remember."

"Only on my mother's side, and even that's only in mild cases of somewhat odd…"  He stopped.   Stared at her, thunderstruck.  "How do you _know_ that?"

She smiled enigmatically.  "I just do."

"Do you know that you're very confusing?"

"Yeah.  I knew that too."

Kirk wasn't the only confused one at that moment.  A few steps farther along the corridor, McCoy was trying to figure out why exactly there were potentially a hundred of him running around.

"So it was all part of a plot to take over the ship?"

"Basically," the author of that piece agreed.

McCoy frowned.  "And then there were Klingons, and tea, and Romulans, and why am I getting confused?"

"It's normal," I assured him.  "I think I understand it, but only just.  It's fun though."

"So the clones vanish when I die?" McCoy persisted.

"Right."

"That was terrible you know, I didn't enjoy reading that!"

Kirk picked up on the conversation there.  "Wait a minute, you wrote the one Bones died in?"

She nodded.  "Guilty."

"I remember that story, that's the one I got shot in…"   He frowned.  "And there was that 'squish' line!"

"'Squish' line?"

"The one about Spock dropping out of the air duct and squishing me!"

"Oh yeah.  That one.  Harmless joke."

"I thought it was kind of amusing," McCoy put in.

Kirk threw his hands up in despair.  "_Amusing_?  A girl whose name I _still_ can't remember—"

"Tricksy Hobbitses."

"—is joking about squishing me and you think it's _amusing_…"  He blinked.  "_Tricksy Hobbitses_?"

"Yep."

"There is _definitely_ something I'm not understanding here," Kirk muttered.

Any explanation didn't occur just then though, due to the slight distraction of a loud roar from the direction of the Mess Hall.

"Sounds like your dragon," Ael said, disappointed.

I nodded.  "Believe me, I'd have preferred it to be Cobalt too."

We entered the Mess Hall and found a giant dragon with teeth and scales and six legs: the Gap Dragon.  His head was raised and he was obviously preparing to steam the hapless red-shirt hiding behind a table.

"Stanley, _sit_!" I snapped.

The Gap Dragon gave me one puzzled look, and obediently sat.

"Stanley?" McCoy repeated.

"That's his name.  Stanley Steamer," I said, opening the laptop and checking into my files.  "Ivy named him that.  Long story."

"Forget the story, are you sure this downloading idea is going to work?" Kirk asked, keeping a wary eye on the dragon.

"If it doesn't, you can tell him about the corbomite."

It did work though.  Simple enough.  Click into the Xanth file, Chapter Six, hit download and presto: The Gap Dragon vanished.

One completely random, incoherent, misplaced story element dealt with.  Countless still to go.

Meanwhile, other writers were having other adventures.

Quantum Maniac had managed to escape the briefing room with his life intact, and ended up in Engineering, because, well, his guide _was_ Scotty, and where else would you end up?  Speaking of Scotty, the two were having something of a disagreement.

"Yer talking crazy, lad," Scotty protested.

"No way!  You could do it, it'd be easy!  I'll help!" Quantum said enthusiastically.

"But I dinna ken why I would _want_ to."

"It'd be awesome!  Haven't you _ever_ wanted to?"

"I'm an engineer, not a captain!"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Lad, you can talk 'til yer blue in the face, I'm not gonna take over the ship!"

"Aw nuts…wonder if I would've had better luck convincing Spork…" he muttered.

It seemed probable, or at least possible, that not all of Kirk's problems would be from the story elements.

Meanwhile, there was a robot running rampant in the arboretum.  Which is where, if you will recall, the rather large group of Spock, Alicia, Alania, Beedrill, Jones, Kiri and PearlGirl were going.  Jones, quite predictably, was somewhat concerned.  He was lagging at the back, and being pulled along by Kiri and PearlGirl.

"Uh, if there's a robot running amok, shouldn't we go the _other_ way?" Jones asked nervously.

"No, we have to go get rid of it," PearlGirl said patiently.

"Can't we let the Captain do that?  He's good at that sort of thing…"

"He's after the dragon, remember?" Kiri reminded him.

"Can't he do both?"

"No, we're doing it," PearlGirl said firmly.

"Come on, Jones, be brave!" Kiri told him.  "We won't let you die!"

I'm not sure he believed them.

Spock, slightly ahead in the corridor, was having his own difficulties.  "I still do not comprehend why you would possibly have the physiological structure of a giant bee."

"Because—a beedrill is a giant bee," Beedrill explained, for the second time.

"And because you are called Beedrill, you theoretically could become a beedrill?  That is not—"

"—logical," Alania interrupted.  "That's what you were going to say, right?"

Spock blinked.  "Yes."

"I knew it."

Spock blinked again, then returned to his original tack, apparently feeling safer there.  "It is not logical, as the name of an item does not alter that item."

"A rose by any other name, etc," Alicia put in.

"Precisely.  If we were to call a rose a cauliflower, it would not become a cauliflower.  Unless you embrace the theory of solipsism, in which case—"

"Spock, you're thinking too hard," Beedrill told him.  "It was just a joke."

"'Jokes' should not conflict with physical laws."

"He's _definitely_ thinking too hard," Alicia agreed.

"He's Spock.  It's what he does.  Sort of like what Jones does is panic," Alania added with a glance over her shoulder to where Kiri and PearlGirl were still coaxing Jones along.

Fortunately for Kiri and PearlGirl, they didn't end up having to drag Jones all the way to the arboretum.  The arboretum came to them.  Or rather, the problem in the arboretum.  Or to be perfectly clear, the robot grew tired of running amok in the arboretum and decided to run amok in the corridor.  Which explains why, right about here in the narrative, the robot came racing down the corridor towards them.  The clump of people scattered.  Only Jones need have worried.  Maybe it was the shirt.  Whatever ti was, the robot immediately set its optical sensors on Jones.

"KILL THE RED-SHIRT!" the robot boomed, and launched itself at Jones.

Jones shrieked, and fled down the corridor, the robot thundering after him.

"That's our robot, all right," PearlGirl said.

"So we're supposed it download it, right?" Alania said.

"Right, and I hope you understand that, because I don't, exactly," Beedrill put in.

"I think I got it," Alania said, opening the laptop.  "Let's see, click into "Read This or Else," hit download, and…"

The robot disappeared in mid-bellow.  Jones continued running and shrieking.  They watched him.

"Well, the robot's gone…" Alania said.

"And so is Jones, in another minute," PearlGirl concluded.

"We should go after him," Kiri decided.

They all might have done that, except that right about them a voice came over the comm to announce that there seemed to be lot of snow and a ski lift in the cargo bay.

"Those would be mine," Alania said guiltily.

They now had two different directions to go.  The only expedient solution (Spock's words) was to split up.  Spock, Alania, Alicia and Beedrill set off to deal with the snow.  Kiri and PearlGirl gave chase to Jones.

Maybe Jones had a point.  Maybe it would have been better if Kirk had gone after the robot.  He wasn't exactly enjoying himself where he was.  Be wasn't exactly having bad time…mostly he was confused.  Or confuzzed.

He took a deep breath.  "All right.  Let me try this _again_.  Your name, please?"

"Ding Dong Damsel," she said promptly.

He threw up his hands.  "But it _wasn't_!  Five minutes ago it was something different!"

"Are you sure?" she asked mischievously.

"_Yes_, I'm sure, five minutes ago it was Psyche.  And five minutes before that it was _Teddy Bear of the Soul_!"

"That one was kind of funny," McCoy put in.

"I don't care if it was _fine literature_, I don't understand it and I don't like it when I don't understand things!"

"Do you have the feeling he's under too much stress?" Emp asked Ael.

"Definitely."

Kirk ignored them.  "If I ask again, am I going to get _another_ name?"

"You could try it."

"All right.  What's your name?"

"Dagger of the Mind."

"See?  _See_?  What _is_ this?"  Kirk abandoned her, and turned to me.  "You!  You must know!  _What's her name_?"

I know I shouldn't have.  I know it was very bad of me.  I know that.  But…I'd do it again.  So what did I say in response to the question 'what's her name?'  I grinned.  "_Exactly_!"

He groaned and glared at the ceiling.  "Pardon me while I go strangle something through sheer frustration."

"Wait a minute, Jim, let me try," McCoy told him.

"Have fun," Kirk snapped, and stalked off a few paces.

"Okay, let's take this reasonably.  I'm not Jim, I'm not going to explode through stress, and I'm not Spock, the word games aren't going to leave me hopelessly baffled.  Let me ask, very simply and directly: please explain to me about your name."

We looked at each other.

"Should we try to explain it?" I asked.

"He _did_ ask."

"Okay.  Let me try it, I think I've got it all straight."  I took a deep breath.  "This is Dagger of the Mind formerly Ding Dong Damsel formerly Psyche formerly Teddy Bear of the Soul formerly Tricksy Hobbitses formerly Contrarywise formerly Caprice formerly Rihannsu formerly—" inhale "—Starseeker formerly Stargazer formerly Ensign Expendable.  And probably several others I've forgotten.  Or you could call her Hobbit of Bree, that's her IM, or Trekkified, that's her e-mail.  And she's got about two or three others of each.  And I'm pretty sure her real name is something else entirely.  Don't ask how we keep track, because I gave that up somewhere around Caprice.  She's known generally as the one who keeps changing her name.  I call her Whatshername."

Kirk and McCoy absorbed this.  "Why didn't someone tell me this at the _beginning_ of the chapter?" Kirk asked plaintively.

"Watching you get baffled and confused is more fun," Whatshername explained.

"WON-derful!"

Just about then we were all distracted—probably fortunately—by pounding footsteps.

"What now?" Kirk asked.

We all turned to see what was coming around the bend now.  It was Jones, running frantically and madly.  We all scattered out of the way, but Jones had very, very bad luck.  He plowed straight into Kirk.

Jones scrambled to his feet with a hasty "Sorry, Captain!" and continued down the corridor, shrieking "Killer _robot_!" as he went.

Kirk sprawled on the ground, and glared at the ceiling.  "Why me?"

A moment and a half later two girls came running down the corridor after him.

"Pardon us," Kiri said.

"Coming through," PearlGirl finished.

They stepped over Kirk without breaking stride, and kept going.

"Where's the robot?" McCoy asked as they went by.

"We downloaded it ten minutes ago," PearlGirl called back.

"Jones hasn't noticed yet," Kiri explained.

They waved cheerily, and continued pursuing Jones.

Kirk got back to his feet.  "So what now?"

"We could wait and see if another panicked red-shirt comes around the corner," Emp suggested.

"What are the odds of that?" Kirk asked doubtfully.

"Good thing Spock's not here," McCoy put in.  "He'd feel obliged to tell us."

There was the pounding of footsteps in the distance.

"I'm thinking the odds are pretty good," I mused.

"I'm getting against a wall," Kirk said, and did.

A red-shirt came around the corridor, running quickly but not as frantically as Jones.  He skidded to a halt in front of Kirk, saluted, announced, "Dragon in Rec Room 3, sir!" and then continued running.

"Guess we're going to Rec Room 3," Kirk concluded.

"Absolutely!" Ael agreed.

So we did.  And we found the dragon.  Big and bronze, with wings.  Not as scary as the Gap Dragon—though still very impressive and a fine specimen of a dragon, and certainly capable of frightening a red-shirt.

"Cobalt!" Ael squealed.

The dragon looked half relieved and half reproachful.  "I should have known.  This is your fault, isn't it?"

"Who, me?"

Cobalt shook his head.  "One minute I'm on that nice planet with the cliffs for flying off of, and the next minute I'm here.  Wherever here is."

"You're on the _Enterprise_," she explained, and immediately had a thought.  "You have to meet Jim!"  She grabbed Kirk's arm and pulled him forward.  "Remember that kid who got eaten by the dragon?  This is him!"

Kirk blinked in confusion.  "I got eaten by a dragon?"

Cobalt extended a bronze paw.  "Pleased to meet you."

Kirk shook it numbly.  "Why was I eaten by a dragon?"

"Not you, exactly.  An illusory you," Ael said briefly.  "That was in the Dream."

"You people are so confusing," Kirk muttered.

"It's not that weird," Ael said, rubbing Cobalt's eye ridge.

"An illusory me gets eaten by a dragon and you think it's not weird?"  Kirk shook his head.

"You sort that out, Jim, I'm gonna check with the bridge and see what's going on," McCoy said, walking over to the nearest comm link.  He managed to obtain the news much faster and much easier than Kirk managed to figure out why he'd been eaten by a dragon.  "Well, we've got a goose named James on deck three—"

"Mine," Emp said.

"Feral bronte leucopsis…" Whatshername murmured, amused.

"—and a lot of natives carrying pottery on deck four."

"Mine," I said.

"So it looks like we'll be splitting up," McCoy concluded.

"I'll stay here awhile," Ael said, eyes on Cobalt.

"All right, it's Tavia and I to deck four, Bones, Emp and whatever her name is today to deck three, and let's hope there aren't too many more story elements to deal with," Kirk finished.

"I'm sure there will be," I said cheerfully.

Dealing with the natives was easy, and, frankly, a bit dull.  The natives never were the emore interesting part of those stories, and there was no one in a mask or behind a cactus.  Right now, anyway.  So the natives weren't that exciting.  It was when we headed back toward Red Room 3 that something happened.

The intercom blared, with the chilling words, "Red alert!  All hands, battle stations!  Repeat, _red alert_!"

"Damn," Kirk said, and ran for the nearest turbolift.

I looked at him in faint surprise—G-rating, you know, I let him get away with it for a few chapters but he wasn't supposed to be swearing anymore—for a moment, then ran after him.  "Wait for me!"

Definitely not the end.  Hehehe…

Hopeful Nebula: No idea when you'll get to this chapter, but yes indeed, Kirk was concerned about seeing a gremlin on the wing.

Beedrill: I'm sorry…I can't stand physics.  Except in the context of a certain Scottish engineer bending the rules.  But if it's your thing, more power to you.  And why is forty-seven a lucky number?  I never heard that, now I'm curious!

Ariennye: Forty-seven chapters isn't enough?  Kidding, more is coming.  Obviously.

Captain Kathy: An 'interesting' take on Kirk…I'm sure what my take is.  I think he's the best captain in the 'fleet, and I have a hilariously good time frustrating him.  And if a part Vulcan thinks I'm amusing, I'm doing okay.  Plot bunnies always appreciated, shall keep in mind.  And as for a crush on Jones…the armor is probably a good idea.  Maybe you could get him to wear some.

Eva: Well, things may become increasingly confusing as I continue focusing on Fanfiction people…sorry about that.  Hope you enjoy it anyway.

Unrealistic: Whatdoyouknow, the crazy kid under attack likes it…I half expected him to lodge a complaint.  And what am I thinking of doing that scares you to no end?  I'm not thinking of anything scary…  And yeah, writing for people I don't know much about isn't exactly easy…but I know some about them.  Enough to get me through a few lines of dialogue with a character I know very well.  And some of these people I know pretty well, you can probably tell who.  

Hanakin: I'm assuming you wanted to wander with Nurse Chapel, I don't think you ever said specifically…and so you're actually a brunette?   It's a funny old world.

PearlGirl: The poofy hair is not my fault!  You guys told me about the poofy hair!  Ah well, glad you enjoyed the story, hope you were satisfied to wander with Jones.  He's fun too.

Mzsnaz: It's not an issue of being interesting (not that anyone in the story is uninteresting) cameos were based on request…lots of requests…glad you enjoyed.

Alania: Sequel?  Good!  And you got Spockie, I hope you're happy, lol!  : ) 

Ael: The DRAGONSEZ are back.  And I cited Favorite Character Mutilation Syndrome to Emp 'cause she's the one I heard it from.  Thanks for the thoughts on what you wanted to talk to Kirk about, it wasn't a really long conversation but it will probably recur…oh yeah, and in 2011 I'll be…*calculates* 24.

Wedge: Doug Adams died?  That's sad…even though most of my favorite writers died half a century ago…  Postponing homework?  Shame!  Lol, as if we don't all do it…

Whatshername: Y'know…I enjoy incoherent reviews.  And as to the ending of this chapter: TRM, chapters 6 and 14.

Broken Infinity: I don't have any brothers, so no particular experience there…  And I'm continuing!

Sukuru: We didn't fix the swirly thing, did we?  Next chapter!  And in the meantime, I think it's getting increasingly random…

Silverfang: HELP!  I don't know who Silver wants to wander with, and you don't list an e-mail!  I need to know that!  I'll figure something out if you let me know soon!

Emp: I fixed the blonde business…and NOW, I'm posting!  Whew, that took a long time, as predicted.  But here we go!


	49. Fanfictionnet categoryid 18

Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine.  But one person in the opening scene is!  : )

I know, I know…it's been FOREVER.  Sorry!  School.  It's all my history teacher's fault.  But here it is!  All written in one day!  Well, I wrote the opening and ending earlier, but the rest was all written yesterday.  No time to post, but I'm getting it up today.  Thank heavens for days off!  I focused more on the less major characters in this chapter…a bit of a change.

Chapter Forty-nine:

Fanfiction.net / categoryid = 18

If you ever have occasion to be in a turbolift with Kirk while he's going to a red alert…well, try not to be.  He is, quite naturally, impatient.  No matter how fast the turbolift moves, it's not going to be fast enough.  And he paces.  And glowers at walls.  I suspect it's a lot like being in an enclosed space with a lion (not that I'd know from experience, of course).  The tension levels are somewhat high.

He asked me once if I knew what was going on.  I swore up and down that I hadn't written an attack into the plot.  Other than that and his footsteps, the ride was silent.

Fortunately, from anywhere to anywhere else on the Enterprise isn't a long trip.  We stepped out on the bridge, and it was immediately apparent that this wasn't going to be simple.  There were red lights flashing.  That was normal.  The bridge crew regulars were all at their stations, which would have been normal if I hadn't known that they were all out wandering the corridors.  There was a small and somewhat battered ship on the viewscreen, of no particular style.  That wasn't usual, but fairly normal.  What wasn't normal was the guy in the center chair.

Only a dozen or so Trekkies in the entire world would have had even a chance at recognizing him.  I think I may be the only one who could be sure.  Anyway, I did recognize him, and immediately everything made sense to me.  Kirk was not so fortunate.

Kirk wasn't the first one to speak though.  "Who are you and what are you doing here?" the one in the chair demanded.  Well, maybe "asked firmly" would be a more accurate description.

"Who am _I_?" Kirk repeated, thunderstruck.  "Who are _you_?  And what are you doing in my chair?!"

They seemed to be equally confused.  "_Your_ chair?"

"Yes, _my_ chair!"  Kirk noticed the other man's rank and shirt color for the first time.  "And my shirt!"

I'm certain I was the only one who noticed the resemblance between that line and one of Kirk's lines in "Mind-Sifter."  Fortunately, he didn't find it necessary to throw himself at and bodily attack the wearer of his shirt, as he had in "Mind-Sifter."  Good story, "Mind-Sifter."  Also irrelevant.  To continue:

"Look, who _are_ you?' Kirk demanded.  "And you better have a _really_ good answer!"

He drew himself up indignantly.  "Robert Lowell, captain of the _U.S.S. Enterprise_."

Kirk choked.  His mouth opened and shut, and not a word got out.  For the third time in 47 chapters, he was struck speechless.

"Wait a minute, I'll take care of it…" I said, resting my laptop on the railing around the command deck.  A few deft clicks had me into "Make of a Captain."  Download, point at Lowell, and presto.  Lowell managed one confused expression before vanishing.  The ship disappeared off the viewscreen, the red alert abruptly turned off, and the bridge crew morphed into the secondary crew, who were supposed to be on duty.

Kirk sat down heavily.  "Explain."

"Well…where do you recommend I begin?"

"Who _was_ that?"

"Robert Lowell…Captain of the _Enterprise_."

He shook his head.  "No.  Robert April, I know.  Christopher Pike, I know.  _James T. Kirk_, I know.  But Robert Lowell?  Never an _Enterprise_ captain with that name."

"No.  Not exactly.  Definitely not canon."  
"What kind of stories are you _writing_?"

"We-ell…let me put it this way.  Have you ever considered a life of crime?"

"Have I _what_?"

Enough said.  Moving on to another part of the ship.  Red alert apparently hadn't rung throughout the entire ship—we'd just been, uh, fortunate enough to be caught in the edge of my story and hear the sirens.  But other people were still wandering the corridors, unaware that we'd narrowly avoided (via downloading) a losing battle with a pirate ship.  For example, on Deck Four, Corridor G (no, I don't really know where that is either) Doug, Wedge, and Unrealistic were wandering with Sulu, Chekov and Uhura.

"So, have any luck with the nuclear vessels?" Doug asked Chekov.

Chekov looked very confused.  "What nuclear wessels?"  [A/N: I have a friend who cracks up at the word "wessels."  It's really very amusing…  Ahem.  Irrelevant.]

"Oh wait…hasn't happened yet.  Sorry, never mind."

"Actually, it _has_ happened," Wedge put in.  "It was in the 1980s, remember?"

"_What_ nuclear wessels?"

"True," Doug agreed.  "It was also in the 2280s though, which would explain why he's still asking what nuclear wessels."

"WHAT nuclear wessels?!  Why would I look for nuclear wessels?!"

"Forget it.  I shouldn't have brought it up.  It's just that it was in Alameda."

Chekov was still looking flabbergasted, oblivious to the obvious amusement of everyone else.  "Why would I be in Alameda?  And why would I be looking for nuclear wessels there?"

"And I write a lot of stories that take place around there," Doug continued.

"About nuclear wessels?"  Chekov found the idea somewhat strange.

"No, about _Full House_."

"I'm so confused," Chekov muttered to himself.

"Right.  Anyway.  Let's talk about Anime!" Unrealistic said cheerfully, if irrelevantly.

"Anime?" Sulu repeated.

"You _do_ know about Anime, don't you?"

"Well, yes—"

"Good.  I figured you would, being Japanese.  It's what makes you cool."

"Uh…thanks."

"That, and you have a really cool sword."

And you can't beat a really cool sword.  Just ask the girls at my Shakespeare Society.  And it occurs to me that I'm injecting quite a few random notes from my life.  Should I stop, or is it amusing?  Anyway:

"Swords are good, but lightsabers are better," Wedge commented.

"What's a lightsaber, and is it in any way connected to nuclear wessels?" Chekov asked.

"You don't know Star Wars?"  Wedge shook his head.  "You're deprived."

And from there launched a conversation ranging from Anime to Star Wars to swords of all types.  I'd follow it along, except that there's a swirly thing in the cargo bay that needs to be dealt with.

As you will probably recall, Sukuru and Riley set off to deal with the swirly thing two chapters ago.  The swirly thing, for those who are uncertain, is giant, and purple.  It also has caused the crew of four shows to be dropped in the cargo bay.  Obviously, something needs to be done.  Which is why Sukuru and Riley wandered in.  And found havoc.

Characters from Next Generation, Deep Space, Voyager, and—strangely enough—Original Trek, were mingling—and arguing—in the shuttlebay.

"Greetings from planet Earth," Spock said grandly.

"You're not human and this isn't Earth," Riker pointed out.

"Don't spoil my line!" Spock snapped.

"I'm sensing frustration," Troi announced.

"This is illogical," Tuvok observed.

Spock greeted him enthusiastically.  "Brother!"

Tuvok looked at him doubtfully.  "I don't think we're related."

"Isn't the 'Brother' line mine?" Data put in.  "I'm always calling my brothers Brother rather than their first name."

"Isn't it about time somewhat from our show got a line?" Bashir asked.

"You just had one," Sulu told him.

"That didn't count."

"Wow.  They're even more confusing in person than in writing," Sukuru commented to Riley.

Riley had a troubled expression.  "I have a strange urge to tell everyone that Kirk's jealous of their graphics."

"Resist," Sukuru advised.

"Resistance is futile," Seven contributed.

"Stop that," Chakotay told her.  "You're not a Borg anymore."

"Says who?  And even if I wasn't, I could still fly the shuttle better than you."

"I was driving it okay!"

"PILOTING!" half the group chorused.

Right about then, if the noise levels weren't high enough already, the doors opened and let someone else in.

"PICARD!!!!"  A six-foot-tall streak raced into the room and glomped Picard.  A glomp being a hug that tends to knock the breath out of the receiver.  Another random note.

Picard looked somewhat frightened and somewhat annoyed.  "Who ARE you?"

"Quantum Maniac!"

"Get off me!"

Quantum leaped to attention and saluted.  "Yes, sir!"  He grinned.  "You're SO much cooler than Kirk!"

"You know, you're an okay kid after all," Picard decided.

Did you know that if you wander far enough along Deck 7, Corridor G, you end up in the cargo bay?  I didn't know that either, and if you're ever wandering the _Enterprise_ I wouldn't take my work for it, but today at least that's what happened.  Doug, Wedge, Unrealistic, Sulu, Chekov and Uhura wandered in the door.

Unrealistic groaned.  "Oh no.  My brother found Picard.  We're all doomed."

At that particular moment, Quantum was busy asking Picard if he had any interest in taking over the ship.

Sulu, Chekov, and Uhura were somewhat confused.  Mostly because they were in the cargo bay.  Twice over.  There were the three from my story, and the three from Sukuru's story.  It was a peculiar experience.

"Do you know anything about the nuclear wessels?" Chekov asked his clone.

The other Chekov shrugged.  "All I know is that WE'RE ALL GOINK TO DIE!!"

"Sixty-one," the two Sulus said in unison.

"That's it.  I'm going back to the bridge," Uhura announced.  "This place is a madhouse." 

"I'll come with you," her clone volunteered.

"Maybe you should download," Riley suggested to Sukuru.  "Things are getting a little strange."

"A little?"  Sukuru pulled out her laptop, opened it, and made a few clicks.  Once into "The Purple Swirly Crossover" it was a matter of moments before all non-TOS characters vanished, taking the purple swirly and the clone-TOS people with them.  "Problem solved."

"You took away Picard!"  Quantum was unhappy.  "Now I'm left with Spork…"

"Stop calling him SPORK!!"

We'll draw the curtain on that somewhat messy scene, and catch up with Jones.  Jones had just been caught up to by Kiri and PearlGirl.  They might never have caught him except that in his mad dash through the halls he happened to encounter Silver, who used her magic to bring him to a screeching halt.

Jones wasn't exactly happy about being frozen in place.  And his vocal cords definitely weren't frozen.  "I'm going to _die_!"

"Jones, the robot is long gone," Kiri told him.

Jones blinked, and looked around.  "It is?"

"Has been for twenty minutes," PearlGirl contributed.

Jones blinked again.  "It has?  I guess I didn't notice."

Both girls groaned.

Silver grinned.  "I've got a feeling it's a good thing I stopped him.  He might have run for a _long_ time."

"Definitely," Kiri agreed.  "Thanks."

The intercom blared out right about then.  "There seems to be a box on Deck Four identifying itself as… 'The Question Box of Doom?'  Right.  Well, if it's yours please come claim it at lost and found, thank you."

PearlGirl looked guilty.

"Yours?" Kiri asked.

"Yeah.  Unless there's other Question Boxes of Doom running around."

"Okay, let's go get it."

"Can I come?" Silver asked.

"Sure, you can help us drag Jones," PearlGirl said.

"But I don't _want_ to go near the Question Box of Doom!" Jones said plaintively.

They dragged him along anyway.

If you've been keeping track (and you probably haven't, but I most definitely have, I've got a whole chart sitting in front of me) there's only one author we've yet to look in on in either chapter.  We'll check on her now.

Hanakin and Nurse Chapel wandered along Deck Two, keeping an eye out for any story elements.  And in the meantime they were talking.

"So how are things with Spock?" Hanakin asked.

Chapel frowned.  "Nonexistent.  Forty-eight chapters and nothing.  Figures I'd be in a comedy, not a romance."

"Maybe you ought to jump ship to one of my stories," Hanakin suggested.  

"Maybe.  There's certainly nothing happening here."

"Unless one of my story elements popped up…maybe we could just leave it here for awhile…"

As it turned out, the story element that popped up wasn't exactly one of the ones they were thinking of.  To tell the story properly I have to backtrack about ten minutes, and explain that Kirk and I were having something of a disagreement.  I stood by my theory that he could have taken up a life of crime.  He didn't agree.  I suggested he produce a character witness.  Which is why he insisted we find Spock.  That wasn't going to be simple though, which we realized when, on asking the computer, the computer responded that Spock was on Deck Five.  And also in his quarters.  Since we were closer to Spock's quarters, that's where we went.  Kirk was stunned speechless for the fourth time in forty-nine chapters on entering.  I fortunately recognized the story, and we called Hanakin via the intercom.  She and Nurse Chapel arrived shortly after.

"So what's the problem?" Hanakin asked.

Kirk broke off his pacing.  "The _problem_?  The problem is that my first officer is…is…what were you _thinking_?" he demanded.

"I think it's funny," I volunteered.  "I thought it was funny the first time.  It's still funny."

"_Funny_?"  Kirk obviously didn't agree.  "Look.  Go ahead," he told Hanakin and Chapel, "just _look_!  It's insane!"

So they looked.  And they found Spock sitting cross-legged in a rocking chair.  Knitting.  No, I did not mistype that.  Knitting.

Chapel cracked up immediately.  "Knitting!  Oh my…"  She leaned against the wall, holding her side and laughing.

"There is nothing amusing about knitting," Spock said with dignity, clicking his needles along the sky-blue sock he was making.  "It is excellent for clearing the mind."

"_Knitting_!" Kirk moaned.  "What is the galaxy _coming_ to?"

Spock looked faintly irritated.  "I am passing my free time as I see fit.  I fail to comprehend why everyone must come and observe."

"I think I better download, and fast," Hanakin mused, opening up the laptop.  A click into "What Does Spock Do?" and Spock, knitting needles, and rocking chair all vanished.

Kirk was still not terribly happy about the whole business.  Things could have become unpleasant.  But right about then the intercom decided it was a good time to blare out a warning.  "Red Alert!  Red Alert!  All hands, battlestations!"

"Not _again_!" Kirk groaned.  

And once again we were off and running for the bridge.  Except that this time there were more of us.  Within two minutes we were on the bridge.  Seemed the story element hadn't felt it necessary to provide a bridge crew, and instead mine had turned up, writers in tow.  They took their places, while all the writers grouped in any corner that seemed out of the way.  Not that there were corners, the bridge being round, you know.

Kirk dropped into his command chair.  "Status?" he snapped.

"Captain, I am reading a distortion in the space right ahead of us."

"Emergency stop, Mr. Sulu," Kirk ordered.  The _Enterprise_ came (figuratively speaking of course) to a screeching halt.  "What is it, Spock?"

"One moment, Captain. The Computer does not recognize this anomaly."

"Give me your best analysis, Spock."

This was beginning to sound just a trifle familiar to me.  I couldn't place it yet though.

"It appears that matter is reforming itself into energy and back to matter again at an almost incalculable rate." Spock hesitated, a slight hint of surprise in his voice. "The space directly in front to us is in some sort of flux."

"Is it moving?"

"No, it appears to be stationary, Captain."

"Hmm."  Kirk was puzzled.  What Spock had just described couldn't exist in space. Known science had just recently been able to recreate what he was seeing here in isolated laboratories. The process was so dangerous that the labs had to be built on asteroids far away from inhabited solar systems.  "How is this possible, Spock?"  
"Unfortunately, I cannot say. This phenomena is beyond my comprehension."  
"Wow!  Jim, get me a picture of this thing! I wanna frame it and hang it in Sickbay."

It clicked.   I recognized it.  "Oh no.  Not good.  Not good at all!  Very, _very_ bad!"

I was immediately on the receiving end of some strange looks.

"What?  No one else recognizes this?"  I sighed.  "No one else read it, right?  Wait…"  I turned to Whatshername.  "_You_ read it!  It was your fault to begin with!"

"Um…what?"

"Keridwen's story…what was it called?  Not the one with the insane Vulcan, the other one…"

Comprehension dawned.  "The one with the girl who was captain of some ship or other, and—"

"Yes, _that_ one!"

She blinked.  "You're right.  _Not_ good."

"Someone care to fill me in?" Kirk asked, an irritated edge creeping into his voice.

"Later.  Right now, get the ship away from the anomaly.  Highest warp."

"Why, it's stationary, isn't it?  It's not doing anything…"

"It _will_!"

"Yes, definitely, get us out of here," Whatshername chimed in.

"All right, full reverse.  Warp eight."

"Aye, Captain," Sulu said.

"Now _someone_ tell me about this!" Kirk demanded.  "And why are we running away from it?  Why can't we just download it?"

"Slight problem.  We didn't write it," I said carefully.

"So who _did_?  _Someone_ must have!"

"Keridwen wrote it," Whatshername volunteered.

"All right," Kirk said decisively.  "Where's Keridwen?"

We didn't quite meet his eye.  "Slight problem.  She isn't here.  She hasn't reviewed this story since the disruptor was pointing at Bones."

Kirk absorbed this.  "All right…seems to me we'll have to ride this out."

"Slight problem.  That would mean dealing with the events of the story until the story ends, right?"

"Right.  How did we get out of this in the story?"

"Um."

"Well…"

"Well what?  We got out of it somehow, right?"

"Not…exactly."

Kirk was giving us a Look.  "If you don't give me a straight answer _very_ soon…"

So we told him.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE ALL _DIE_?!!"

I'm bad, I know.  Another red alert.  I have high hopes of posting much sooner than I posted last time though.  Have to finish this arc up in time for a Christmas chapter, you know.

I'm betting not a soul remembers their review, but I'll reply anyway:

Beedrill: Insanity only understandable to the insane…an interesting theory.  Of course, I've heard that if you can question your own sanity that's a sign that you're _not_ insane…but I think my source on that may be Beverly Crusher, so who knows how reliable that is.  If it had been Bones who said it, that would be different.  Anyway…I'll keep an eye out for the number forty-seven from now on, you can be sure.

AliciaF: **blinks**  Wow…I thought _I_ was the only one who reviewed stories just to bug the author!  I'm flattered. 

AlienAgent: I believe I e-mailed you…

Unrealistic: Well, your brother obviously found the swirly thing…but it's gone now, the world is safe.  And you can tell him I'm seriously considering having him pushed out an airlock.

PearlGirl: Being confused by Whatshername is not an indication of slowness.  She confuses _me_, and I wrote it.  And my computer has a mind of it's own too.  Heaven help us if they start working together.

Ael: Now would I make a girl download her dragon?  Well, I would.  But not immediately!

Fool of an Elf: Guys with pointed ears are cool!  And a girlfriend for Surak…hmm.

Captain Kathy: It's a bit late, yeah…but I'll see if I can work something out next chapter.  I make no promises, but I'll see.  And I love pointlessness!

Silverfang: I forgive you for the e-mail problem, lol.  And sure it's crazy to wander with Jones.  But why is that bad?

Vest-Button: What an interesting name…glad you enjoy!

Alania: Long reviews are good.  Especially when the reviewers liked the story, lol!  How went it as Vulcans for Halloween?  I was a pirate, personally.

Mzsnaz: Well…I finally had time!  Hope you liked!

Kiri: You will have a story element.  I swear.  Trekkie's honor.

Whatshername: Ah yes.  A random review.  I enjoy it.  Simmons…yes, I do need to put Simmons in.

Bug the Hobbit: Hehe, glad you enjoyed.  I like the name change by the way, have I said that?

Sukuru: Look!  I got back to the swirly thing!  Didn't forget about it!

Emp: Kirk is fun when he gets frustrated…

Okay, that's all.  Reviews much appreciated!


	50. Lost in Cyberspace

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek.  I just like to pretend.

[wraps arms over head protectively] I know, I know…it's been impossibly long, and I'm sorry!  I mean it!  I'm sincere!  But the story didn't want to be written and my muse got tired of it, and all the fruitcake in the world can produce only so many effects…but it finally got itself finished, though not without some really random divergences, so beware…but I hope you enjoy it, and it's insanely long too.

Oh yeah…I really hope FF has straightened out its issues with Author Alert…

Chapter Fifty:

Lost in Cyberspace

As you will recall, when we left off we were in the process of explaining to Kirk that we were all about to die.  He didn't exactly cotton to the idea.

"We can't just all _die_!" Kirk snapped.

I shrugged.  "Well, actually…"

"Tell me this story!" he ordered.

"In chapter one, the anomaly approaches."

He nodded.  "Okay."

"I think it's chapter two, everybody dies," Whatshername continued.

He shook his head.  "Not so okay.  What happens in chapter three?"

"You all go to heaven.  It was actually quite funny," I mused.

"I don't care if it was _hysterical_!  I don't _want_ to go to heaven!  Yet," he added hastily.  "So what's in chapter four?  We must resurrect somewhere!"

"Um."

"_Well_?" he demanded.

We looked at each other.  No way to sidestep that question, unfortunately.

I sighed.  "There is no chapter four."

"How can there not be a chapter four?  We're all dead, and there's no chapter four?"  Kirk groaned.  "_Why_ can't people _finish_ stories that involve me being dead?"

Obviously it was a rhetorical question.

"All right," Kirk said grimly, "there's got to be a way out of this.  We just have to find it.  How exactly did it kill us?"

I tried to remember the last few lines of the first chapter of that story whose name I still couldn't recall.  "I think the _Enterprise_ was flying away faster than light…but the anomaly followed faster.  That was the end of the chapter."

"Okay," Kirk concluded, "we'll have to go faster then."  He keyed Engineering on the comm.  (Scotty, incidentally, was the only character who had apparently gone to his post rather than the bridge.)  "Kirk to Engineering.  Scotty, are you there?"

"Aye, Captain, what is it?"

"We need to go faster than maximum warp," Kirk said briskly.

There was a pause on the other end of the line.  "Ah, Captain, it's called maximum warp because it's _maximum_…we don't go faster'n that."

"Scotty, I didn't ask if we _can_ do it.  I said _do_ it.  There must be a way to go faster.  And fast, we don't have time to recalibrate the entire system."

Scotty thought about it.  "Well now, if I put another dilithium crystal in the center reactor hub…"

"Do it," Kirk ordered.

"I can't.  I don't _have_ another dilithium crystal.  There's the two in the left hub, and the two in the right.  I don't have a fifth one to put in the center."

Kirk sighed.  "Two on the left, two on the right, and you need a fifth?  Well it seems simple enough to me, Mr. Scott.  I need you to add two and two and get five."

I blinked.  "_1984_!"

"No, five," Kirk said shortly.

There were objections from the upper ramp.  "Captain, that is completely contrary to all laws of physics and absolutely impossible," Spock said flatly.

"I didn't ask if it was _possible_, I said do it," Kirk snapped.

"Captain, two and two equal four," Spock pressed on.  "They do not and cannot equal five, or three, or any number but four.  No amount of saying otherwise will alter that fact.  _Were_ that fact to be altered, the galaxy as we know it would collapse, all laws of physics and mathematics would immediately become inoperative, and chaos would ensue.  The galaxy would most likely tear itself apart in a great cataclysmic destruction.  However, that is irrelevant, as two and two always and forever equal four.   They _have_ always equaled four, and they _will_ always equal four.  Never five."

I stared at him.  "Where were _you_ when Winston needed you?"

Spock blinked.  "I do not know any Winstons."

"Didn't you ever read _1984_?  By George Orwell?  I wrote a paper on it for school."

Spock nodded.  "An interesting dystopia of societal manipulation.  An intriguing, if false, prediction of the future."

"Can we get back to the anomaly?" Kirk asked with undisguised irritation.

"Of course, Captain," Spock said agreeably.

"_Thank_ you.  Now, Mr. Scott—"

"I b'lieve I can do it, Captain."

Kirk blinked.  "You can?"

Spock's eyebrows shot up and hid inside his hairline.  "Two and two _cannot_ equal five."

"No, but they can equal six," Scotty said.  "If I cut the crystals into thirds, and then structure them with a top third and a bottom third and space between, the power will radiate between the two pieces just as though there was crystal there.  That leaves me four thirds to put in the center reactor the same way, and therefore—"

"Don't explain it, just do it.  You've got two minutes."

Well, the long and the short of it (also the wide, the narrow, the fat and the thin) is that Scotty's addition of two and two equaling six worked.  We outran the anomaly, no one went to visit St. Peter, and, once far enough away, the phenomena disappeared entirely.

Kirk exhaled slowly.  "Well.  Glad that's settled.  And everybody's still alive."

"Not me," Jones volunteered.  "I'm dead."

Everyone turned to stare at him.

Kirk frowned.  "_What_?"

"We just had a near-death experience," Jones explained patiently.  "Red-shirts don't survive near-death experiences.  So I must be dead."

Kirk sighed.  "Jones, if you were dead you wouldn't be standing there explaining to me about your being dead."

Jones considered the matter.  He stared at Kirk, thunderstruck.  "You're _right_!"

Kirk groaned, but for everyone else it served as a needed release of tension, and the bridge rang with laughter.  However, the short-lived relief was, well, short-lived.  In practically no time at all more reports came in of story elements all throughout the ship.

"I'm getting reports of a large-scale grouping in Rec Room 10," Uhura reported.

"We have ten Rec Rooms?" Kirk murmured.

"Seems to be some kind of contest," Uhura went on.  "Seems to involve…Tetris.  Of all things."

"That would be mine," Unrealistic said.

"Tetris…right.  What else?" Kirk asked.

"Also another contest going on…something about caring for lizards, I think."

"Lizards?" Kirk repeated doubtfully.

"That's Bug's," I recalled.  "We'll have to get her to come download it."

"Fine, do that.  Next?" Kirk prompted.

"Well, we've got a short green guy on Deck Three," Uhura continued.  "Bald, with really big ears."

All Trekkies who were also Star Wars fans exchanged looks.

"Might be mine," Emp volunteered.

"Or mine," Ael put in.

"Or mine," Wedge said.

Kirk blinked at them.  "You all write about short green guys?

"Well, y'know…Yoda," Emp said by way of explanation.

Kirk shook his head.  "No.  I don't know.  And I don't want to know.  What else is wandering around my ship?"

"There seems to be a dragon in Rec Room 3…still."

All eyes turned to Ael, who looked back with complete innocence.  "Something the matter?" she asked.

"You didn't download Cobalt," I concluded.

"I will…eventually."

"A dragon.  Of course."  Kirk sighed.  "Why me?  Why not some other starship captain?  No, don't answer that."

No one had the chance to answer anyway.  Because at that very moment a tall, thin, silver-haired, inhumanly gorgeous pointy-eared male humanoid who isn't a Vulcan landed on the bridge.  Everyone stared.  He stared back.

"May I speak to the captain please?" he asked after a moment.

"That would be me," Kirk volunteered, looking at the sudden visitor doubtfully.

The visitor looked back just as doubtfully.  "Are you sure?"

Kirk blinked.  "I'm positive!"

"But you're not female."

"WHAT?"

The visitor in question was confused.  "Isn't the captain of this vessel Captain Kathryn Janeway?"

"No!" Kirk snapped.

"Hmm.  Wrong ship," the still unnamed man concluded, and vanished.

Everyone stared at the empty spot for a long moment, then decided to pretend nothing had happened.  It was all FF's fault anyway, of that we could be sure.

"So, any other story elements left?" Kirk asked, determinedly ignoring the momentary visitor.

[A/N: We're going to have a somewhat random divergence now…mostly because that was the only way I could get the story to listen to me at all.]

"Just one.  On Deck Two we're getting reports of a somewhat…strange individual."  Uhura frowned dubiously.  "Scraggly dark hair with beads, beard put into two braids, ragged clothes, long coat, and carrying a banana.  Calls himself Cap—"

"CAPTAIN JACK SPARROW!"  There was a veritable explosion of enthusiasm from most of the writers.  Such delight had not been seen since the initial appearance of Jones.

The Star Trek characters were rather taken aback.  Spock's eyebrow was definitely on the rise.

"I take it you know this guy," Kirk concluded.

There was a surge of enthusiastic nods.

"So…what's so great about him, anyway?" Kirk asked doubtfully.

He immediately was on the receiving end of many deeply reproachful looks.

I struggled to find a way to explain.  "He's…well, he's…he's just…he's _Captain Jack Sparrow_!" I finally concluded.

Spock frowned almost imperceptibly.  "That statement imparts absolutely no useful information."

"Never mind.  Deck Two, did you say?" I asked.

"Deck Two, corridor G," she confirmed.

"All right, let's go," I said, and started towards the turbolift.

"Wait, go where?" Kirk asked.

"To see Jack, of course."

"Everyone?"

Everyone agreed that yes, it was everyone.  Those who were fans were adamant, and those who were not fans needed to be brought along so they could become fans.

"What about downloading?" Kirk demanded.

Everyone with outstanding story elements and Pirate-fandom agreed that that could wait.  Any further protests from Starfleet Crew were ignored as the writers swarmed into the turbolift, hauling their guides along.

*  *  *

[A/N: And here I'm somewhat hampered by not really knowing (with a few exceptions) who likes Jack and who doesn't.  So we're really going to go in a random direction…it should be entertaining though.  I have very entertaining friends…]

By the time we found him, Jack had wandered from Corridor G to Corridor E.  As the whole group of us turned the corner and spotted him up ahead, Jack had his back to us and was loudly singing.

"Hey-ho, we'll go, anywhere the wind is blowing!  Hoist the sails, and _sing_!  Sailing for adventure on the big-blue-wet…_thing_!"  He shrugged.  "Well, at least it rhymed."

Someone in the whole large group of us coughed.

Jack turned at once.  With no imminent attack or hostility, he decided to be polite.  He doffed his hat and bowed.  "'ello, mate.  Mates," he amended.

There was no immediate response.  Most of the group was in the midst of either confusion or a dreamy, glazed sort of silence.  Feel free to pick your own group.  In the middle of all that silence, I heard the footsteps approaching rapidly behind us.  The conclusion I drew snapped me out of my dreamy, glazed state.  For a little while, anyway.

"You might want to move," I said, stepping aside and yanking a few people with me.

That just about cleared the way for the speeding rocket—a teenage girl—who raced through and glomped Jack.

"You're _Captain Jack Sparrow_!" she squealed.

"Um…'ello," Jack said uncertainly.

"Who is this?" Kirk wanted to know.

"That's my pirate-obsessed friend Cate," I said.

I assume that was when he noticed that somehow we'd picked up two extra people with whom he was unfamiliar.

"And who is _that_?" Kirk asked, pointing at the girl with red-brown hair who was staring at Jack, hands clasped, eyes wide, quietly and steadily saying "Eeeeeeeeeeee…"

"That's Panda."

"And who's _this_?" Kirk asked, pointing at the girl who was eyeing Jack with a maniacal gleam, tapping her fingers together, and laughing evilly.

"That's Meaghan.  Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned that Jack was turning up in my story," I said thoughtfully.  "Things may get messy."

Cate, meanwhile, was still latched onto Jack.  "You're…you're…you're _Captain Jack Sparrow_!"

"I knew that," Jack pointed out, probably wondering how he was going to get this teenage girl off of him.

"You're SO _awesome_!"

It was the right thing to say to Jack.  "I like you," he decided.

It was too much for Cate.  "Squee," she said simply, and fainted dead away, leaving Jack with an armful of unconscious Cate.

It seems reasonable to me that Jack would have had _some_ experience with fainting women.  Just…because.  All the same, he appeared somewhat disconcerted.  "Uh…'ello?  Luv?"  No response.  Jack looked around, and after a moment's thought he handed Cate to Spock.  "'ere, mate.  From me to you."

It seems reasonable to me that Spock would have had absolutely _no_ experience with fainting women.  So he stood there rather uncertainly.  "Um, miss?  I advise waking up."  As his hands were full—with Cate—he obviously couldn't tap her on the shoulder, though it was clear that he dearly wanted to.  He had to settle for shaking her a little.  "Miss?"

Jack, meanwhile, had straightened out his jacket, then noticed the strange 

"eee-ing" noise.  He turned a full circle, then realized it was coming from Panda.  "Y'alright, luv?"  And then he made the fatal error of smiling.

Panda made a noise sounding a lot like "myr" and fainted dead away into the nearest available pair of arms.  The nearest available pair of arms chanced to be Spock's, as he had just managed to hand Cate to McCoy.  (McCoy being a doctor, he probably had a fair bit of experience with fainting women.  Though actually, it was entirely possible that Kirk had the most…never mind.)

Spock looked down at Panda with—for Spock—a rather pained expression.  "Miss…?"

Perhaps you're wondering what the rest of us were doing as all this fainting was happening.  Well, Meaghan was still laughing evilly.  The rest of us, you can divide into two primary groups.  A, the ones who were looking thoughtful.  These were mostly the non-Pirate fans, who were either 1) wondering what the excitement was all about or 2) wondering how soon they could rent this movie.  B, the Pirate-fans, who had descended back into glazed, worshipful expressions.  Among the Star Trek characters, there were three exceptions to the two above categories.  Spock and McCoy, of course, were still busy dealing with the fainted Pirate fangirls—though be it duly noted that they happen to be crazed _Jack_ fangirls, not crazed Will fangirls.  There's a vast difference, I assure you.  Anyway, that accounts for two.

Exception number three was Kirk.  He was becoming disgusted with the whole business.  After a day of chaos, he was not exactly in the mood for fainting girls, glazed fans, and dirty pirates.  It was high time he took control of the situation.  Jack gave him the perfect opening.

Now that no one was clinging to him or eee-ing at him (though there was still the one laughing evilly), Jack started paying attention to the crowd of people staring at him.  "'ello."  Large portions of the group sighed worshipfully.  "So…who's in charge 'round 'ere, anyway?"

"I am.  Captain James T. Kirk of the starship _Enterprise_."

"Captain, eh?  Pleased to meet ye," Jack said cheerfully, shaking Kirk's hand.  "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."

"Yeah, I got that," Kirk said, discreetly wiping his hand off on the leg of his pants.

"_Enterprise_, ye say?  Bet yer a member of the navy."

"Well…more or less," Kirk agreed.

Jack nodded.  "Navy always names their ships like that.  _Dauntless_, _Interceptor_, _Enterprise_…have to go to the pirate ships for poetic names."

Kirk blinked, then took offense.  "What's wrong with _Enterprise_ as a ship name?"

Jack shrugged extensively.  "Nothin.'  Just not as poetical as, well, the _Black Pearl_, for example."

"I happen to find _U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701_ fairly poetic!"

What Jack might have said in response is hard to say, as he didn't respond.  There was an interruption, and probably just as well.

Meaghan clapped her hands together.  "I'll turn him into a flea," she announced.  "And I'll put that flea in a box, and I'll put that box inside another box, and I'll put that box inside another box, and then I'll mail it to myself, and when it arrives, I'll smash it with a _hammer_!"

Jack was looking at her with a odd blend of confusion and horror.

"You're going to smash Jack the flea?" I demanded.

Meaghan blinked.  "Oh.  Sorry.  Caught in the moment.  What I meant was, I'll mail it to myself, then change him back, and _keep him_.  Or, to save on postage, I'll lasso him, hogtie him, and keep him in my closet!"

"This girl is disturbing," Jack announced.

Some of the writers had objections to Meaghan's plans.  Basically along the lines of "you can't keep him in your closet because he's _ours_!"  A substantial argument developed.  All uninvolved parties watched with interest.

Kirk grew increasingly displeased as the argument continued.  After a few minutes he finally voiced what was _really_ bothering him.

"I don't know what everyone's getting so excited about.  What's so great about _him_?  No one got nearly this excited about _me_."

"Well, he's just, y'know, Captain Jack Sparrow," I tried to explain.

"So?  I'm a captain too.  Legally!  I don't run around pillaging and plundering and whatever else pirates do.  And besides…I have much better hair."

Jack managed to catch that line.  "What's wrong with my hair?" he demanded.

Kirk frowned at it.  "When was the last time you washed it?"

It has to be admitted that Jack sidestepped the question.  "That's beside the point."

That was the last bit of that conversation, as Jack was distracted right after that.  Cate had woken up, and glomped him again.

Kirk threw up his hands.  "You'd think he was a Greek god or something!  A Trojan, maybe!"

"No, that's Orlando.  Jack's just…Captain Jack Sparrow," I said, for at least the fourth time.

"That tells me nothing!"

"Sure it does.  See, Jack's just…one of those people who can be completely defined by their name.  Although," I mused, "I guess it would help to know what he's like, in order to learn what he's like from his name."

Kirk stared at me.

Jack chose that moment to sidle up.  How he got away from Cate I couldn't say, as I wasn't watching, but somehow she'd let go of him and joined the argument.  Panda was still unconscious.  Which, all in all, left Jack free for the moment.

"Could ye point me to the way out, mate?" Jack asked Kirk, and shot a nervous glance at the arguing girls.  "Can't say I object to lasses fightin' over me, but they're gettin' _real_ proprietary o'er there."

"The way out," Kirk repeated.  "That's a little hard to say."

"We could start with where I _am_," Jack suggested.

"The _Enterprise_.  My ship."

Jack looked around doubtfully.  "Um…ships have sails, and rigging and a hull…I don't think—erk."

The "erk" had nothing to do with ships, or with what he didn't think.  The "erk" had everything to do with Panda waking up (to Spock's great relief) and latching onto his arm.

"Hi."  She beamed at him.

"Um."  With a lot of twisting and wrenching, Jack got himself out of her grasp.  "Easy on the arm, luv."

She latched on again.  "Want me to kiss it and make it better?!"

He blinked.  "No."

"Oh," she said, crestfallen.

"I'm beginnin' to feel a mite smothered," Jack hinted, trying once again to extricate himself.

"Tough life," Kirk said, unconvincingly.

Meanwhile, the argument had reached a decision.

"All right," Meaghan concluded, "we'll keep him on rotating weekends.  Me first.  Where's my lariat?"

"That's it," Jack announced.  "Time to be leavin.'  I've got a pearl waitin' for me.  So long.  It was fun."

"Why does that line seem eerie?" Kirk muttered.

No one was listening to Kirk though, as Jack was rather the focus.  You see, he said he was going to leave, and he did.  Got Panda off his arm, took two steps forward, and vanished.  Back to the _Pearl_, I assume.  There was a general sigh of sorrow.

Kirk blinked.  "How did he do that?  No one downloaded him!  He just…went."

I shrugged.  "I keep telling you…he's Captain Jack Sparrow."

"Right.  Anyway…can we get back to the downloading now?" Kirk asked, somewhat plaintively.

Because Captain Jack Sparrow had gone, the general consensus was that yes, we could.  First matter was to look up just who was running around the ship.  There were a _lot_ of people.  None of whom were at all familiar to the _Enterprise_ crew.  There could be no doubt at all.  FF's malfunction was only getting worse.  While before all the random story elements had at least been from the Star Trek page, now they, well, weren't.

McCoy was reading off reports from a comm unit set in the wall.  "Reports of a blonde girl wear a green dress on Deck three.  Says her name's Zelda."

"Mine.  Or rather, Silverfang's," Silver volunteered.

"Okay.  Somebody with absurdly spiky black hair and purple clothes on Deck Five."

"Probably mine," Beedrill offered.  "Sounds like someone from Dragon Ball Z."

"And a whole group of people wearing 1940s American army uniforms on Deck Six."

That stumped us all briefly, until Alicia had a thought.  "Maybe they're from Hogan's Heroes.  I've posted some stories about them."

"Really?  I wrote one about them too!" Whatshername said with interest.

"All right, so they belong to one of you.  We can deal with that," Kirk said briskly.  "Any other people walking around?"

"Um, noooo…not exactly," McCoy said slowly.

"What do you mean _not exactly_?" Kirk asked, suspicious.

"Well, there's no people, but, um…I don't know quite how to tell you this, Jim, but…there's a giant wooden Klingon in the cargo bay."

"There's a WHAT?"

"A giant wooden Klingon," McCoy repeated.

"Just when I thought things couldn't get stranger," Kirk muttered.  "Whose is it?"

Wedge coughed.  "Um, mine.  I was spoofing the Holy Grail…"

"A giant wooden Klingon.  Nice."  Kirk sighed.  "Alright, _that_ needs to be downloaded rather badly.  Even if it's actually more relevant to our universe than most.  What else is out there, Bones?"

"A horse."

"Just a horse?"

"No…a talking horse."

Kirk blinked.  "No one can talk to a horse, Bones."

I perked up.  "A horse is a horse, of course, of course, and no one can talk to a horse, of course, unless, of course, the horse, of course, is the famous…"  I stopped.  "Sorry."

"Um…right," Kirk said finally.  "So about the talking horse…"

"Is the horse named Mouselike?" Kiri asked eagerly.

"Uh, yes, how did you know?" McCoy asked in bewilderment.

Kiri was thrilled.  "'Cause it's my horse.  So I get to download something!  Finally!"

"I'm glad you're happy.  Can we go download now?" Kirk asked.

"Yes, let's," Kiri seconded.

So we did.  Everyone took their respective guides and went off to hunt up their story elements, while those with no story elements currently went wandering at random.  The people with Star Wars stories went to look for Yoda (who as you will recall was still hanging around somewhere), while Alicia and Whatshername took McCoy to go look for the Hogan's Heroes characters.  And we all splintered off in different directions, though one would have to work at it to pick up a splinter on the _Enterprise_, where there is no wood to speak of.

As for me, I had nowhere in particular to go, so I went wandering one of the many corridors of the Enterprise, dragging a tense Kirk along with me.  As has been stated many times, he was having a long day.  And it was about to get longer.  Because we hadn't wandered very far when we bumped into Ael, Wedge, and Emp, who had gone in search of Yoda.  And found him.

Kirk blinked.  "Hey!  You're the short green guy!"  A wealth of tact, Kirk is.

Yoda frowned at him.  "Polite, you are not," he said sternly, tapping his cane.

"Why is he still here?" Kirk demanded of the fanfiction writers.

Emp shrugged.  "He doesn't want to be downloaded.  He insists on staying awhile instead."

"A disturbance in the Force, I sense.  Its source I must find," Yoda said firmly.

"Why can't you just figure out whose story he's from and download him?" Kirk wanted to know.

"He's resisting," Wedge explained.

Kirk threw up his hands.  "Great!  Why not just let _everybody_ stay?  I suppose I can get used to utter madness on a daily basis!  Never mind if complete _havoc_ ensues!"

Yoda frowned.  "I sense much anger in you.  And frustration.  Such things the Dark Side feasts on.  Relax you must."

Kirk groaned.  "Oh god, he's a shrink.  Bones put you up to this, didn't he?"

Yoda nodded firmly.  "Yes, relax you must.  And respect you must learn."

One wave of Yoda's tiny green hand and we learned that the Force was very much in operation.  Kirk wasn't really in a position to be impressed.  He was hanging upside down from the ceiling, you see.  The writers, myself included, cracked up at once.

"Put me down!" Kirk ordered.  Futilely, I might add.

Yoda nodded approval.  "Very good for lower back it is, to hang downside-up."

"I don't care _what_ it's good for, put me _down_!"

Yoda looked at him sternly.  "Apologize first, you must."

"I'm _sorry_!"

"Your sincerity I doubt."

Kirk took a deep breath.  "I'm sorry.  Very sorry.  I didn't mean anything by the short green guy line.  I like short green guys, really.  I like green people in general, just ask Spock.  Really.  I mean it.  I'm _sincere_!"

"Very well.  Forgiveness I grant you."  Yoda turned and continued along the corridor, cane lightly tapping as he went.

"Hey, wait a minute!" Kirk shouted.  "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Yoda glanced back, and regarded the upside-down (or downside-up) Kirk.  "No."

"_Put me down_!"

Fortunately for Kirk, the writers interceded on his behalf.

"Maybe you really should let him down, Master Yoda," Ael commented.  "He's not a bad sort, really."

"He's just kinda stressed right now," Emp agreed.

Yoda sighed.  "Very well."  A wave of the hand, and Kirk's feet unstuck from the ceiling.  Fortunately, Starfleet training kicked in and Kirk managed to tuck and roll and come up uninjured.

Yoda, and the three Star Wars fans, continued along the corridor, in search of the disturbance in the Force.  I stuck around to make sure Kirk didn't do anything violent, like grabbing a phaser and going on a rampage.  He looked capable of it.

"Crazy, I tell you!" Kirk said wildly.  "Absolutely _nuts_!" 

"You seem a little upset," I commented.

"A little upset?  Do you know what kind of day I've been having?" he demanded, pacing up and down the corridor.

"Of course I do, I've read every word."

"Well it hasn't been good!  This is just the last thing, I have _had_ it!  I want shore leave," he said abruptly.  "Send me back to Disneyland."

"Can't, already told that story."

"Okay, Yosemite."

"I don't know," I said doubtfully, "mountains aren't a good idea for you."

"What?"

"Or they won't be, anyway," I amended.  "You really shouldn't climb without ropes, y'know.  Good thing Spock'll be floating around."

He blinked at me.  "You are among the most random people I have ever met."

I beamed.  "Thank you."

"Right.  So forget Disneyland, forget Yosemite, how about Risa?"

"We've been over this, G-rating."

"And about that, that doesn't let me do _anything_!"

"So go over to _Make of a Captain_, it's PG."

He was surprised.  "Really?"

I shrugged.  "I decided a certain amount of swearing was necessary to your character.  Darn and heck weren't going to do it."

"About that story, what are you doing to me?  And to my ship?  And…and…"  His gaze had drifted over my shoulder.  As he looked down the corridor, a look of absolute terror came over his face.

My eyebrow rose.  "Captain?"

"My little kumquat!"  That wasn't Kirk.  That was a voice from behind me, and I recognized it at once.

Kirk screamed, and took off running down the corridor.  A woman in a mask cam running by in pursuit, shouting, "wait, my blueberry muffin!" as she went by.

I had my laptop with me, but I doubted I could get close enough to use it.  So instead I just watched as the figures faded in the distance.  "He really _is_ having a bad day," I mused.

*  *  *

It wasn't long after that that the writers all met up again in the briefing room.  The story elements we'd gone after had all been downloaded and safely put away in the hard drives of our computers, with only two exceptions.  One exception was Yoda, who had come to the briefing room himself.  The second exception was Cobalt, or at least I think he was an exception.  Ael was being evasive.  Oh yes, and there was also Stella, of course.  We mustn't forget her.

Speaking of Stella, to draw a dubious connection, all but one writer were present but a couple of characters were missing.

"What happened to Jim?" McCoy asked me.

I shrugged.  "Last I saw, he was fleeing down a corridor, Stella in pursuit.  I don't think he's enjoying himself very much."

I think McCoy was trying to restrain a smile.  "No, probably not."

The other character missing was Jones.  Kiri, Silver and PearlGirl knew the answer for that.

"He had to go to Sickbay," PearlGirl explained.

No one was very surprised.

"So what happened to him _now_?" McCoy asked, perhaps feeling a medical curiosity.

"He was buried in Author Alerts," Silver told him.

McCoy blinked.  "In what?"

"Author Alerts.  The ceiling opened and out came a mountain of paper, every sheet printed with 'Author Alert,'" Kiri elaborated.  "Jones was buried."

"We're blaming it on FF," PearlGirl put in.

"Speaking of which," Spock said in a valiant effort to return to more important matters, "are we receiving further reports regarding the appearance of story elements?"

"I'll check," McCoy volunteered, turning to the nearest console.  The verdict was unwelcome.  "Um…they've gone up.  The number, I mean.  We're definitely getting more and more randomness turning up.  Whatever's wrong is only getting worse."

"Does anyone else have the feeling we're not accomplishing anything?" Whatshername asked.

A chorus of "Yes" went up.  A feeling of futility had descended at the news.  Not that we hadn't enjoyed wandering around the _Enterprise_.  But it would be nice to think we were actually _doing_ something too.

"Trouble is, we're treating the symptom, not the disease," I complained.

"The source of the problem you must find."  Only Yoda would have put it quite that way.

"We don't _know_ the source though," I explained.

"Sure we do," Ael countered.  "FF is screwing up again."

"As much I thought," Yoda agreed.  "A disturbance in this 'FF' I sense."

"What, Fanfiction is the Force?" Wedge asked dubiously.

"The Force it is not, but in principle similar it is," Yoda explained.  "The Force it is that binds all things together.  This Fanfiction is a similar joining of dissimilar parts, one great whole forming."

"So we must repair Fanfiction," Spock concluded, the fastest one to decipher Yoda's sentence structure.

And the prevalent question became HOW?

"One moment," Yoda said calmly.  Then he closed his eyes, bowed his head, and raised his hands.

It was at that moment that the doors hissed open and a wild-eyed Kirk dashed in.  "You didn't see me," he told us, and disappeared under the briefing room table.

Half a moment later Stella appeared in the doorway.  "Where's my sweet baboo?" she screeched.

"Not under here!" a muffled voice came from under the table.  "No sweet baboons here!"

"_Aha_!" she shrieked, and dived for the table.  She disappeared mid-dive.

While we had all been distracted by the drama of Kirk and Stella, Yoda had maintained his concentration.

"Solving of problem has been done," Yoda announced.  "The balance has been restored."

"You didn't kill any cooks, did you?" I asked.  I received many blank looks.  "Sorry.  It's a Johnny thing.  Cate's fault, all Cate's fault…y'know what, never mind."

The issue was dropped.  McCoy was busy checking the reports.  "It looks like everything vanished.  All at once."

Kirk's head emerged from under the table.  "Is it all over?"

The answer was yes.  For now, at least.

After that, there's little to tell.  The writers bid farewell to the characters and each other and returned to their normal lives.  Or at least, most of them left now.  One had already gone.  You may recall that there had been one writer missing in the briefing room.  Quantum Maniac had already been pushed out an airlock at that point.  Our lips are sealed regarding who exactly did the pushing…  But the rest of the writers left at this point, and it seemed that life aboard the _Enterprise_ would at last return to normal.  Kirk made a comment to that effect to Spock and McCoy as they stood on the bridge shortly later.

"Well, it was…interesting, meeting all of the writers, but I for one am glad things are back to normal."

"Indeed," Spock agreed.

"Sure.  Normal."  McCoy grinned, a lop-sided grin.  "At least…until one of them thinks of another crazy situation to put us into."

Kirk sighed, then grinned in spite of himself.  "Well…at least it makes life exciting."

~~~***~~~

I won't even comment on whether anyone remembers their reviews.  I'll just answer.

Emp: I wish I could claim credit for Spock knitting…it was a very funny idea.

Skimbleshanks: Crossovers in general can be lots of fun…my first attempt at a Star Trek story was a crossover with Star Wars…then I realized I only enjoyed writing the original Trek characters.  And here we are.

AliciaF: Um…you're welcome?

Ael: Yeah, it was an evil cliffie.  And you might have had an element to download, I honestly have no idea who Yoda belonged to.

Silverfang: Yeah, Picard's just there.  No vendetta, but so not as good as Kirk.

Alania: I hope you really do like random side notes, since that whole bit with my friends was pretty much a random side note…

Whatshername: "random interval for hysterics"  I love that.  Must use that phrase somewhere.

Bug: Well, it was a mite late, but I successfully referenced you!

Ariennye: Well, no Christmas story this year, sorry…but I did one last year, it's still floating around.

Mzsnaz: Yeah, good ol' Jones.  Strangely popular, he is.

D'len: Hmm, my friends and I aren't the only ones who say "bloody" as and adjective frequently…good to know.

Hanakin: Boy, can I relate to not updating…the muse just gets tired with stories and goes on strike, right?  Keep at it!  Maybe you can talk her around!

Unrealistic: Catch the reference to your brother and an airlock?   Had to squeeze that in somewhere!

Quantum Maniac: Powerful weapons and quantum powers?  I shudder at the thought of the havoc that would be unleashed…

Vest-button: A guy in a red vest dies?  Odd indeed… ^_^

Nenya: Yeah…fifty chapters.  I still stand back and gaze at that in shock and amazement.  I don't know how it happened.

Happi Froggi: Wacko and nuts are good things.  Very good things.  ^_^

PearlGirl: Which I could claim to have invented the "GOINK" line but I didn't.  That's the thing about crossover stories…I can't claim all the good lines.  But on the other hand, I get to steal other authors' really good lines…

Captain Kathy: Well, I fit in the silver-haired individual…sorry about not getting you guys in, it was a little late in the game to try to get more authors in, especially with the muse adamantly refusing to cooperate.

Fool of an Elf: Sporks have pointed ears…[cracks up].

Ad G: A bit insane?  Really?  And here I thought it was completely certifiable…

Blynneda: I don't know why you haven't been reading it.  I missed ya.  Try to drag away from the articles and turn up here more often, kay?  Your long rambling reviews are fun.

Beedrill: Yep, crossovers are fun.  And as for poor Kirk, well, it's a _long_ day for him.

Usagi-chan: Love my writing style?  I'm flattered!  And impressed that you went all the way through a story with 49 chapters in it…

Sukuru: Don't worry.  We all lived.  You can go do the laundry.

!!!IMPORTANT AUTHOR NOTE!!!

Um…now, you all noticed how long this took to post.  But I wrestled it into writing this chapter.  Just this one.  Now that we've finished up the arc and hit the nice round number of fifty, Trekkie Soul is going on an official hiatus, so that I and my muse can concentrate on the many other stories running around.  _This doesn't mean it's gone for good_.  It's just on indefinite shore leave.  I love the story and I love you all, and thank you for fifty wonderful chapters and over five hundred wonderful reviews; I enjoyed every one!

May I refer you to my other stories?  If you're not already reading _Make of a Captain_ I recommend it, as it's presently my main Trek story.  Not entirely humorous, but, well, _I_ find it fascinating.  I also have some funny short stories in mind, and will try to come up with one for Jones.  And if you want more completely random humor and like _Pirates of the Caribbean_, _Cornfield Madness_ is sort of the _Pirates_ "Trekkie Soul."

In conclusion, it's been wonderful, please don't flame me for stopping, and thank you for everything!


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